


Aces

by MoraMew



Series: Aces, Queens, and Everything Inbetween [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Abuse, Accidental Drug Use, Angst, Blood and Torture, Gore, Hitman AU, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Slurs, Smut, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Violence, Yakuza, improper handling of anxiety attacks, not very healthy relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-03 12:39:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 90,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11532411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoraMew/pseuds/MoraMew
Summary: Kyoutani scowls, reaches over and grabs the beer. He slugs down about a third of it before shoving it at Iwaizumi again. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and yawns. The two sit in silence, Kyoutani eventually leaning against him and sighing.“You’ve got too soft of a heart for this shit,” Kyoutani tells him.“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says with a sigh. “I know.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> New story time! This fic is inspired by being drug into IwaOiKyouSuga hell by Soulie, the absolutely amazing ["Night Call" by oseltamivir_phosphate](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10575888), and my own desire to just have a broken Oikawa with an Iwaizumi to take care of him.
> 
> I ask you to please take the tags seriously. They're not there for fun. If for any reason while reading you think I missed something that needs to be tagged, please let me know!

Iwaizumi groans when his phone goes off, sits up and snatches the damn thing from the nightstand. He switches on the lamp, pinches the bridge of his nose as he answers his cellphone, cuts off the annoying ringing. There’s the usual too cheery voice at the end of the line, a quick message and then the sound of a dial tone.  
  
Of course. Why should they have expected to get a good night’s sleep?  
  
He groans again, sits up and stretches. He hits the blonde laying in bed with him, forcing his partner to wake up.  
  
“Business,” he grumbles out when the man glares at him.  
  
Kyoutani huffs, pushes himself up and scowls.  
  
“We just fucking got back,” the man growls. Iwaizumi watches him run a hand through overgrown hair, scowl deeper. “Jackasses.”  
  
“Just get ready,” Iwaizumi tells him.  
  
Kyoutani flips him off and Iwaizumi hides a sigh. He can understand the feeling.  
  
He gets out of bed, stretches and yawns.  
  
Coffee. He needs coffee.  
  
Iwaizumi makes himself a cup, makes sure there’s enough for Kyoutani as well. He gulps it down quickly, not even caring that he scalds his tongue with the bitter brew. He just wants to get this over with so he can go back to bed.  
  
It’s coffee, a slice of toast and an apple while he waits for Kyoutani to wander into the kitchen. Then a shower when he realizes the blonde is going to take his sweet time getting ready to leave. A shower, then getting dressed, grabbing gear and heading out.  
  
It’s all the same. Grumbling about being woken up when they expected to have the fucking day off. Going to the locker, getting instructions. A few cigarettes and no talking while they wait to go to where they’re supposed to be. Heading there (mostly) clean and climbing back into the car bloody and a bit banged up. Going home, grabbing each other and fucking until the adrenaline high wore off. Falling back into bed and sleeping it all off.  
  
Same shit, different day.

 

...

 

This is not the same.  
  
They had been sent on another little job, forced to leave the penthouse just as they were settling in for some well deserved Mario Kart, some well deserved pizza and booze. Iwaizumi had expected it to be the same old shit- a deadly little aggravation with a big payload as a reward.  
  
But, no. This is different.  
  
Iwaizumi cocks his head to the side, slings the pipe over his shoulders and looks at the two men on the dirty, blood splattered and piss caked floor.  
  
They’re out of it. All drugged up with their eyes glazed over and hands clinging to each other. The bruises on their bodies reminds Iwaizumi of little galaxies, all mottled in greens and purples and stormy pewter. Those little galaxies, the little lines of scabbed up scarlet and mottled pinks are the only colors on them. They’re drained, nearly achromatic save for the speckles of shocking pigments dashed all over them like paint on a canvas. They’re unsubstantial, fading away in this small, grimy room. Just scabbed up, bruised up, burnt things decaying into husks.  
  
Not everything is marked with violent hues, dotted with dashes of color. Their faces are still intact, left untouched. Those are kept free from bruises and scrapes and burns, kept pretty and unmarred. The only thing to detract from fine, delicate features are the red rims around their eyes, the little bags underneath them. They’re pretty, much too pretty to be found on this dirty floor with its cracked yellow tile and film of filth.  
  
It’s like finding angels with their wings ripped off but their halos still intact.  
  
Iwaizumi sighs, frowns as he looks down at them.  
  
He’s used to seeing victims, people stolen away and fucked and broken. But they’re mostly girls. Men found are men of influence, men that are found with a slit belly or bound up with rope on chair, their head blown off.  
  
They aren’t found like this- pretty, starved out things clinging to each other and staring across the room with unseeing eyes. They aren’t two guys that look like they’ve been dragged through hell and back, naked and dead-eyed and looking like they’re three seconds from passing out. They hadn’t even flinched when Iwaizumi bashed the head in of the fucker that had been walking toward them with a needle in hand.  
  
“Oi,” Kyoutani barks. “We need to go.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Iwaizumi tells him, distracted as he looks at the two.  
  
He squints a little, tilts his head a bit more. These two look...familiar. Something about them seems familiar. Something about that greasy head of grey hair, something about that messy head of coffee brown hair tickles his memory, tells Iwaizumi that he’s seen them from somewhere before.  
  
“Hey,” he calls out. “You seen these two before?”  
  
Kyoutani lets out a huff, stomps over beside Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi watches as the man eyes the two, frowns a bit. He takes a moment to admire the splash of blood on a tan cheek, the hickey he had left on Kyoutani the night before. It’s good, seeing that, seeing him.  
  
It’s the little things, Iwaizumi thinks idly as he taps his fingers over the pipe. One just has to appreciate the little things in life.  
  
“The brunette was in the paper last week,” Kyoutani tells him after a moment of studying the two. “He’s missing. Think I read that he’s from some rich family or some shit.”  
  
“Not missing now,” Iwaizumi says with a sigh. It’s really just his luck to run across a pretty little stolen elite while he’s on the job. “Get him up.”  
  
“Like hell,” Kyoutani snaps. “We gotta go. We don’t have time for this.”  
  
“So grab him and go,” Iwaizumi shoots back. “We leave him here and the rest of the fuckers from their little gang will kill him or just make his life worse. He’s got a family looking for him. Grab him.”  
  
“When the fuck did you become a softie?” Kyoutani sneers.  
  
“I don’t know,” Iwaizumi tells him. “When did I save  _ your  _ sorry ass?”  
  
The blonde growls, crouches down and snatches at the brunette’s arm.  
  
“Oi, let’s go-  _ he fucking bit me _ .”  
  
Iwaizumi blinks, snorts as Kyoutani curses. The grey haired one had sank his teeth into Kyoutani’s arm when Kyoutani moved to yank the brunette up. Copper eyes are still glazed over but there’s a wild spark in them now, something almost animalistic in the noise that escapes the man when Kyoutani wrenches his arm from his mouth.  
  
“I think I like that one,” Iwaizumi says, a small smirk on his face when Kyoutani scowls over at him. “You get him. I’ll get the brunette.”  
  
“Fuck you.”  
  
Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, steps forward and scoops the brunette up easily. He’s so  _ thin _ . Iwaizumi can see the outline of his ribs, the way his hip bones jut out sharp and angular. How long have they been locked away like this?  
  
“How the fuck do you think we’re getting out of here with these two all bundled up?” Kyoutani snaps.  
  
He still slings the grey haired one over his back, though, despite his snapping. Teeth sink into Kyoutani’s neck and Iwaizumi snorts with laughter when his partner hisses.  
  
“This fucking- what is he? A dog?”  
  
Iwaizumi smirks again, shuffles the brunette in his arms. “Let’s go. The longer we stay, the harder it’ll be to get out.”  
  
There’s a grumble from his partner, something particularly petulant. The blonde follows after him, though, gun at the ready and the man on his back letting out little growly noises.  
  
It’s a bitch to walk over the downed bodies and keep the guy from falling out of his arms. He doesn’t even do anything. Doesn’t cling, doesn’t say a word, doesn’t try to push away. He just closes his eyes, rests his head against Iwaizumi’s chest.  
  
Some scared kid- god how young do they recruit them these days?- runs into the hallway, eyes wide and a gun shaking in his hand. He looks like he’s two seconds from running away, crying. Iwaizumi almost feels sorry for him for a moment, wonders if he’s been forced into this work to pay off a debt or if he’s just an idiot that thought working for a gang would be cool.  
  
Kyoutani shoots the kid down and the brunette curls his fingers against Iwaizumi’s chest, whimpers and trembles.  
  
He doesn’t feel sorry then.  
  
They actually manage to make it out without it being too much of a hassle. He does have to set the guy down at some point to bash some heads in. He does have to apologize when their blood splatters onto the guy’s face, neck, chest. He does have to apologize when he busts the knee caps of one of the fuckers and the asshole falls close to the brunette, makes him let out a little whimper. But, really, despite everything, it’s surprisingly quite easy to make it out.  
  
Getting them into the car isn’t easy.  
  
The grey haired one scrambles off Kyoutani as soon as he sees Iwaizumi trying to put the brunette in the car, falls over himself and scrapes his knee trying to reach him. Kyoutani scoffs, picks the man up again and tries to shove him into the car.  
  
It earns him another bite and a growl.  
  
Eventually, they manage to get them in. The brunette kind of makes a little whimpering sound when Iwaizumi lays him out in the back seat and the grey haired one stops struggling against Kyoutani and scrambles into the car, grabs onto the brunette, pulls him close. His eyes are brighter now, more alert but holding confusion in them, fear.  
  
“This isn’t worth it,” Kyoutani mutters when he slides into the passenger seat. “I’m not a chew-toy."  
  
“I think I recall you biting me when I picked you up in that alley,” Iwaizumi says, a little smirk threatening to dance onto his face. “Pretty sure I still have a scar.”  
  
Kyoutani scowls, folds his arms over his chest. He has a little cut on his cheek now, skinned up knuckles and clearly visible bite marks on his neck. It’s a good look, makes Iwaizumi a little  _ hungry  _ as he eyes him up.  
  
“Whatever,” the blonde growls out. “Let’s just go.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Iwaizumi tells him, letting his eyes trail over a bite mark before flicking his gaze away. He kicks the car into drive, starts heading away from the club. He drives past a cluster of white suited men and lets out a small huff of laughter, thanks his luck that they managed to leave in time. “You wanna take care of them at home or deal with Aces?”  
  
Kyoutani groans, scrubs his face with his hands. “I’m not playing babysitter.”  
  
“Fine then,” Iwaizumi tells him. “You report and I take them home.”  
  
“Am I supposed to tell them about those two?” Kyoutani asks, jerking his head back toward the two in the backseat. “Or do you not want them to know you decided to play the hero?”  
  
Iwaizumi scoffs. “Don’t see why they have to know. Besides, we keep this quiet and hand over the brunette we could get a nice little chunk of change, right? Tell Aces to back off with sending us work for a little bit, maybe get a fucking day off.”  
  
“Fine,” Kyoutani says, rubbing at one of the bite marks on his neck. “You have fun trying to keep those two from freaking out.”  
  
“Pretty sure I can handle it,” Iwaizumi tells him.  
  
Kyoutani grunts and the two lapse into an easy silence. There are a few whimpers from the backseat, even a quiet whine. Iwaizumi ignores it, though, and prods Kyoutani into swiping the blood off his face before dropping him off at the shitty little love hotel.  
  
The two in the backseat stay quiet for the most part, just little whimpers sounding every once in awhile from the brunette. It’s quiet, calm. When he looks back in the rear-view mirror, they’re just huddled up together with eyes squeezed shut and shoulders shaking. He thinks it might easier getting them up to the penthouse than it had been getting them into the car.  
  
But, of course, when Iwaizumi pulls into the parking garage for their complex, the grey haired one starts up again with the little growls. He fucking  _ snarls  _ at Iwaizumi when he turns around to eye them up, glaring at him while the brunette just stares ahead all dead eyed and absent.  
  
“Knock it off,” Iwaizumi says with a tired little yawn. He rakes his hand through his hair, eyes the speckles of blood on the two. “I’m not going to hurt you. I took you from there, didn’t I?”  
  
Copper eyes narrow, still wild. But the grey haired man  _ does  _ seem to relax, at least a little bit. Iwaizumi hums, rubs his chin and makes a face at the stubble along his jawline.  
  
“Right. Don’t move,” Iwaizumi tells them. “I think I got some spare sweats in the trunk.”  
  
The grey haired man curls up tight, clings to the brunette. Iwaizumi gets out of the car, pops open the trunk and eyes the messy contents. He needs to get rid of that mallet soon. Or at least clean the blood from it.  
  
He pokes around in a duffel bag and finds some sweatpants, a hoodie and a jacket. They’ll fit the ashen haired one but the brunette is tall and it might not work as well.  
  
Whatever. It’s better than trying to shuffle them up to the penthouse stark ass naked.  
  
Iwaizumi closes the trunk, walks over and opens up one of the back doors of the car. He tosses the clothes in and sighs when they flinch, when the grey haired one grabs the brunette and pulls him further away from Iwaizumi.  
  
“Just put them on,” Iwaizumi tells them, mildly annoyed. “I can’t take you up if you’re naked.”  
  
The brunette just blinks and the grey haired one narrows his eyes, distrust clear in them. Iwaizumi sighs again, puts his hands on his hips.  
  
“You want me to dress you then?” he asks.  
  
He swears the grey haired one is going to growl at him again. The man scowls, though, grabs the clothes and begins awkwardly trying to pull them on the brunette, hands shaking and and movements clumsy.  
  
Iwaizumi steps back, lets them sort themselves out. He shucks off his gloves, frowns at the new scars marring oxblood leather. A sigh escapes him when he thinks he’ll need to get new gloves soon and Iwaizumi stuffs the gloves in his jacket in exchange for a pack of cigarettes, lights one up and watches the two in the car tiredly. He’s exhausted. He needs sleep, needs to figure out what the hell he’s actually going to do with the two, needs to figure out how to get the brunette to his family and get the reward without revealing himself.  
  
Iwaizumi puts his hand on the top of the car, leans in when his cigarette is finished and eyes them. They look ridiculous- one dwarfed by the clothes and the other showing off bony ankles and wrists.  
  
Whatever. It’ll do.  
  
“Come on,” Iwaizumi says. “Let’s go.”  
  
He watches the grey haired one press his lips together tight, watches his jaw clench and unclench. The man ducks his head down and his lips move against the brunette’s ear, something quick and too quiet to hear whispered to the other man. The brunette blinks, lets the ashen haired one nudge him out of the car. Both of them shake when they stand up, flinch and gasp a little.  
  
Iwaizumi just sighs, tosses the cigarette butt away and clicks the lock button on his key-fob.  
  
“Hoods up,” Iwaizumi orders. “Keep quiet. We’ll be there soon.”  
  
The grey haired one bites his lip, eyes Iwaizumi before flipping up his hood and then the brunette’s. Their hands grip at each others and Iwaizumi watches as the grey haired one swallows, something a bit bright in his eyes.  
  
Iwaizumi jerks his head forward, beckons them to walk in front of him so he can keep his eye on them. He mutters little directions, keeps an eye out for anyone wandering around.  
  
It’s early in the morning, though- just past two am. The complex is like a ghost town and Iwaizumi finds himself raising a brow, not really sure how or why his luck is so good on this particular day.  
  
He hopes it doesn’t run out soon.  
  
The grey haired one starts breathing fast when Iwaizumi herds them into the elevator, eyes wide and darting around, fear clear in them. Iwaizumi watches with interest when he pushes against the brunette, buries his head in his shoulder.  
  
Kyoutani had recognized the brunette, but who is the grey haired one? Iwaizumi is sure he’s seen him somewhere before. He’s just not sure  _ where _ .  
  
The elevator dings and Iwaizumi ushers them out, has them walk to his door. Their steps are wobbly, their bodies swaying. When Iwaizumi has them stop so he can fish out his keys, the brunette slumps against the grey haired one and closes his eyes.  
  
He isn’t sure what to do when he gets them into the penthouse. Iwaizumi scratches his head, yawns.  
  
He should probably call Matsukawa, he decides as he eyes the two. They’re banged up, fucked up. Matsukawa owes him some favors anyway.  
  
The man bitches at him when he calls, swears and then laughs when Iwaizumi tells him he has two guys he needs Matsukawa to look at. He gets some teasing, Matsukawa taunting him about his so called soft heart and reminding Iwaizumi about how he had called the doctor so long ago, asked him to come over because he had a blonde bleeding out on his sofa.  
  
Iwaizumi pinches the bridge of his nose, sighs when he hangs up. The two are standing quietly in the hallway, hands still held tight. The brunette looks a bit more there now, eyes slowly roaming around and taking everything in with a confused, lost little look on his face.  
  
“Right,” Iwaizumi says. “I got a guy coming that can look you over, fix you up. You can shower before he comes, I guess.”  
  
The brunette blinks, cocks his head to the side. The grey haired one frowns, looks at Iwaizumi with suspicious eyes.  
  
“You want to sit around covered in blood?” Iwaizumi asks, crossing his arms over his chest.  
  
The grey haired one shakes his head quickly, something almost petulant on his face. Iwaizumi tries not let his amusement make a small smile quirk up on his face.  
  
“Come on then,” he tells them. “Bathroom’s this way.”  
  
H e leads them to it, watches their legs shake. Will they actually be able to shower without collapsing?  
  
He leans against the door-frame when they shuffle into the bathroom, crosses his arms over his chest.  
  
“Use what you need,” Iwaizumi tells them. “There’s extra towels under the sink. Try not to pass out or anything.”  
  
The grey haired one shoots him a little look, something almost like a scoff on his face. He looks even more pale in the blue light of the bathroom, almost ghost like with the smears of purple under his eyes and hollowed cheeks. The brunette is just as wraith like, cheekbones popped prominent and eyes so, so exhausted.  
  
“I’ll check up on you in a bit,” Iwaizumi says. “Just leave the clothes on the floor.”  
  
They blink at him and Iwaizumi sighs, walks away to leave them be. He scrubs at his face as he walks back to the living room, grabs his phone from his pocket and eyes it.  
  
A quick search reveals that the brunette is one Tooru Oikawa. He’s from a rich family, just like Kyoutani had said. Second son of some power couple that calls a model the matriarch and some big shot CEO the patriarch. The article he reads says something about Oikawa being intelligent, some sort of smart little whiz kid that had been going to university for fucking  _ astrophysics  _ before he had been nabbed. He’s supposed to be dating some pretty little girl, someone left distraught over his sudden disappearance.  
  
There’s significantly less information on the grey haired one when he searches. He’s an artist, apparently. Someone that had just started up the year before but has been quickly gaining recognition ever since. His name is Koushi Sugawara and the small photo nestled between the words paints him happy and with a bright smile that completely contrasts with the snarls Iwaizumi had seen. Sugawara had apparently disappeared the same night Oikawa had and there’s been minor speculation over whether the two disappearances are linked.  
  
Iwaizumi hums to himself, taps his phone against his lips and wonders how the two had ended up in that dirty little room, all drugged out and battered to bits. The photo of Sugawara had tugged at his memory but he’s still uncertain why that one is familiar, where he’s seen him before.  
  
He shrugs off his thoughts, yawns and shoves his phone back in his pocket. It really isn’t his concern.  
  
Iwaizumi waits around until he thinks that the two might be done, goes to his room and tries to find some clothes that might fit. He has a hoodie left from when Bokuto had crashed at his place last- it’ll have to do for Oikawa. The brunette can deal with sweatpants that doesn’t quite cover his ankles.  
  
The shower is still going when he steps into the bathroom. It shuts off almost as soon as he dumps the clothes on the bathroom counter and he can see the blurry forms of the two behind frosted glass. He isn’t surprised that they had showered together; they probably needed the physical support from each other to get through it and Oikawa had seemed so unresponsive. He doubts Sugawara trusts the brunette to handle himself.  
  
“New clothes,” Iwaizumi tells them. “Put ‘em on and come on out.”  
  
Of course there’s no answer. He sighs, backs out of the bathroom and closes it back up. Iwaizumi leans against the wall of the hallway, pulls his phone back out. Matsukawa had sent him a text, told him he’s close, that he’s picking up Kyoutani and that this “better fucking cover for the diamond thing.”  
  
Iwaizumi scoffs, shoves his phone back in his pocket.  
  
As if this would cover  _ that _ .  
  
He waits boredly for the bathroom door opens, rubs his eyes and yawns. He hopes that it won’t take too long, hopes that he will be able to crash soon.  
  
When the door opens, the grey haired one- Sugawara- is standing slightly in front of Oikawa, looking tired but a little bit better. His hair shines bright as starlight now that it’s wet, now that it’s clean. Oikawa’s is an absolute mess- sticking up randomly and flattened against his head in some places. With the clothes on Iwaizumi can’t spot any of the bruises or burn marks except for on their necks. Bokuto’s hoodie makes Oikawa seem small, tiny. He looks exhausted and Iwaizumi watches him sway on his feet, slump against Sugawara.  
  
“Come on,” he tells them. “Doc will be here soon.”  
  
Sugawara’s eyes narrow but there doesn’t seem to be as much fight in them as before. He just looks tired, weary.  
  
Iwaizumi leads them to bedroom, has them curl up on the bed while he sits in the armchair tucked into the corner and yawns. Sugawara stares at him from the bed, copper eyes not wavering for a moment despite looking like he’s two seconds from passing out. Oikawa just curls up, lays his head on the other man’s shoulder and closes his eyes.  
  
“You’re not going to freak out when he gets here, are you?” Iwaizumi asks, yawning again and rubbing at his eye.  
  
No answer from either of them. Sugawara just pulls the brunette closer, keeps staring at him.  
  
“Guess we’ll see,” Iwaizumi mutters.  
  
Matsukawa comes waltzing in just a few minutes later, Kyoutani trailing after him with a deep frown on his face. Sugawara visibly tenses at their arrival, shoulders hunching forward and eyes drawing tight.  
  
“Oh ho,” Matsukawa drawls, walking over to the bed. Iwaizumi watches as the man smiles at Sugawara, gives him a shit eating little look. It’s almost smug, the expression. Smug and irritating as hell. “Looks like Mad Dog wasn’t lying. How  _ ever  _ did you get your hands on these two?”  
  
“Shut the fuck up and just look at them,” Iwaizumi tells him, growing more and more annoyed. He just wants to  _ sleep  _ already. “Pretty sure they need some stitches.”  
  
“Then make me some coffee,” Matsukawa shoots back, leaning over and peering down at Oikawa. “Two sugars and a splash of whiskey.”  
  
“How the hell are you a doctor?” Iwaizumi mutters to himself, rubbing at his eye again. Does he have a lash in it? He eyes Matsukawa, watches as the man reaches out to touch Oikawa. “Oh, wait-”  
  
“He bit me.”  
  
Iwaizumi and Kyoutani snort, both smirking when Matsukawa looks over at them with a blank expression. Sugawara had bit into Matsukawa’s hand, had sank his teeth into the doctor’s hand when the man tried to pull Oikawa’s hoodie up.  
  
“He’s, uh,  _ bitey _ ,” Iwaizumi tells him.  
  
“Bitey,” Matsukawa replies in a flat tone. “Of course.”  
  
Iwaizumi snickers, walks over to bed and looks down at Sugawara. The grey haired man glares up at him, tightens his hold on Oikawa and makes the brunette let out a little whine.  
  
“Oi,” he says. “You want Oikawa taken care of or not? You don’t want his wounds to get infected, do you?”  
  
Sugawara huffs, shoots Matsukawa a nasty little look and settles back against the pillows. Iwaizumi pats Matsukawa on the shoulder and leaves to make the doctor some coffee, half wondering if he should have a cup as well.  
  
He ends up smoking instead of making himself a cup, idly running his finger over the rim of a mug while he waits for the coffee pot to finish doing its thing. He wants a shower, maybe a beer and then sleep. Matsukawa can probably handle watching over the two while he crashes on the couch.  
  
Iwaizumi sighs, runs a hand through his hair and makes the cup of coffee. He tosses the cigarette butt down the sink and grabs himself a beer, wanders back to the bedroom.  
  
Both of the men on the bed have their shirts off when Iwaizumi walks in. Oikawa seems to be hyperventilating a little, his fingers clutching at the covers. Sugawara looks angry, frustrated as he grits and bares his teeth, eyes to the side and burning with Iwaizumi thinks could possibly be embarrassment.  
  
Iwaizumi raises a brow, sits the coffee down near Matsukawa and hangs back, watching as the doctor squints and leans closer to Sugawara.  
  
“Shit,” Matsukawa says. “These look infected. I’ll take them out for you. They’re probably going to scar.”  
  
Iwaizumi cocks his head, notices the shiny little nipple rings for the first time. They do look infected- all nasty and crusted over. Looking at them makes him wrinkle his nose, frown.  
  
“Okay,” Matsukawa says, straightening up and folding his arms over his chest. “This is going to take a while but I’m pretty sure I can handle it without having to drag them to the clinic. You owe me for this.”  
  
“Like hell I do,” Iwaizumi snaps. “You forgetting all the favors you owe me? Just get them patched up.”  
  
Matsukawa groans, runs a hand down his face. “Fine. I’m going to need more coffee. And I’m stealing the guest bed when this is all finished.”  
  
“Whatever,” Iwaizumi says. “Just get it done.”  
  
He looks over at Sugawara, frowns a bit. “Don’t bite him again.”  
  
The man raises his head, eyes telling Iwaizumi that he isn’t going to make any promises.  
  
Iwaizumi just rolls his eyes, looks over at Kyoutani. The blonde follows him out of the room, to the living room. They both collapse onto the couch, yawn.  
  
“What are you going to do with them?” Kyoutani asks, his voice rough with light exhaustion.  
  
“Dunno,” Iwaizumi tells him. “I’ll figure it out in the morning.”  
  
Kyoutani gives a little huff, runs a hand through his hair. “You figured out who they are?”  
  
Iwaizumi nods, finally cracks open his beer. “Yeah. Brunette is Tooru Oikawa. Rich kid, just like you said. Grey haired one is Koushi Sugawara. He’s an artist or something. They went missing on the same night.”  
  
“Can’t believe that fucker bit me,” Kyoutani mutters.  
  
“As if you’re not used to it,” Iwaizumi yawns out.  
  
Kyoutani scowls, reaches over and grabs the beer. He slugs down about a third of it before shoving it at Iwaizumi again. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and yawns. The two sit in silence, Kyoutani eventually leaning against him and sighing.  
  
“You’ve got too soft of a heart for this shit,” Kyoutani tells him.  
  
“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says with a sigh. “I know.”

* * *

They fall asleep at some point and Iwaizumi wakes up to find Kyoutani sprawled out on him, head on his chest and a small bit of drool leaking out of the corner of his mouth. He snorts quietly and wipes the drool away, shuffles out from under the blonde.  
  
Matsukawa is in the kitchen when he wanders in, forehead resting against his palm and a half eaten sandwich in front of him.  
  
“Is it done?” Iwaizumi asks, voice rough from that little bit of sleep he had managed to get.  
  
Matsukawa opens his eyes, yawns and then pushes his glasses up. “Yeah, it’s done.”  
  
Iwaizumi watches him take his glasses off, rub at his eyes. He looks exhausted.  
  
“I gave them some meds and knocked them out,” Matsukawa informs him. He frowns, puts his glasses back on. “They’re going to be in pain for awhile. Especially Oikawa.”  
  
“You know who he is?” Iwaizumi asks. He walks over to the fridge, pulls out a bottle of water. “He’s been missing for awhile, I guess. The article I read said it’s been a month or so since he was snatched up.”  
  
Matsukawa hums and nods. “Yeah. Some of the clinic has been chatty about it. A wife of one of the doctors is in Oikawa’s mother’s little inner circle so there’s been some gossip floating around.”  
  
“Guess she’ll be happy for him to be found,” Iwaizumi says, sitting across from the doctor.  
  
“Not so sure about that,” Matsukawa mutters, a small frown on his face. He picks at his sandwich, plucks a pickle from it and pops it in his mouth. “There’s some rumors going around that mommy and daddy aren’t happy with their baby boy. Something about finding him in a gay bar.”  
  
Iwaizumi raises a brow, taps his fingers against the water bottle. “Really now?”  
  
“Really,” Matsukawa tells him. The man sighs, tilts the bar stool back a little and frowns a bit deeper. “What are you going to do with them?”  
  
“Don’t know,” Iwaizumi answers. He sighs and twists off the bottle cap, slugs back a long drink. “They probably won’t be able to be moved or anything for a bit, will they?”  
  
Matsukawa shrugs. “Should be okay. It’s not like they have any broken bones or anything. They’re just going to be sore and achy. Exhausted, a bit feverish. They won’t need an iv or anything. But kind of maybe start off with small portions for food. Can’t say much for their mental states but I’m sure you can handle them.”  
  
Iwaizumi sighs again, nodding. “Got it.”  
  
“I can come check up on them later,” Matsukawa offers. “Try to just keep them resting.”  
  
Iwaizumi mutters a “thanks”, nods. Matsukawa stands up, pushes the plate toward him.  
  
“I’m hitting the hay,” the man tells him. “I’ll leave some meds on the counter before I leave.”  
  
Iwaizumi hums, thanks him again and watches as the doctor wanders from the kitchen.  
  
He’s still so tired.  
  
Iwaizumi yawns, glances at the little clock hanging on the wall. A little past five in the morning. He could sleep more.  
  
Should probably shower first, though.  
  
Iwaizumi sighs, runs a hand still speckled with blood through his hair. What a fucking night.  
  
He pushes himself off the bar stool, heads to the bathroom. The pile of clothes on the floor reminds him that he needs to throw some laundry in the wash, that he needs to figure out how to dress the tall one, the lanky brunette.  
  
Bokuto probably still has some clothes laying around somewhere, he figures. Those will do for the moment.  
  
The shower is a blessing. All the hot water soothes his still partially keyed up nerves, washes the dried blood and little bits of brain matter and tiny flecks of flesh off of him.  
  
He’s going to have to clean the couch again, he realizes with a sigh.  
  
He showers, wraps himself up in a towel. He thinks about shaving off the stubble along his jawline, dismisses the idea out of laziness and the desire to just rest again.  
  
Iwaizumi wanders back to his bedroom, steps in quietly. The two are resting in the middle of the bed, clinging to each other even in their sleep. He walks over to the edge of the bed and looks down at them.  
  
Sugawara is whimpering, vulnerable now that he’s asleep, one little tear sliding down his cheek. The lamp on the nightstand had been left clicked on and it highlights the hollows of his cheeks, gives the illusion that his pale, pale skin is a healthier hue. Iwaizumi notices a beauty mark for the first time, a tiny little mole just under his left eye.  
  
He sighs, reaches over and thumbs away the tear without really thinking. The man flinches at the touch and Iwaizumi frowns, moves his hand away.  
  
“Sorry,” he whispers.  
  
Oikawa is deathly quiet in his sleep. There are no whimpers, no tears. His face is scrunched up, though, his brows drawn together and lips trembling. His shoulders shake and he curls up tighter, buries his face in a mess of ash grey hair.  
  
They had fallen asleep shirtless and Iwaizumi frowns at the contrast between stitched up, bandaged torsos and unmarred faces. They’re pretty, yeah. Fucking beautiful even. But god isn’t it disgusting, this display of what parts of them are worth something and what parts aren’t worth anything.  
  
His eyes trace over them for a few moments before he has enough, steps away to grab some clothes. He lets the towel drop and pulls on boxers, sweatpants, a shirt, some socks.  
  
He leaves the room, wonders if he should wake Kyoutani up. The thought is dismissed when he catches sight of the man snoring on the couch; he needs some rest.  
  
Iwaizumi finds his feet taking him to the office, finds his ass sitting in a chair he hasn’t quite broken in yet.  
  
He’s tired but now his mind is buzzing quietly and he is sure he isn’t going to find sleep again.  
  
He needs to figure out what to do with them. It isn’t like when he picked up Kyoutani; they had people actually looking for them, wanting them back.  
  
Well, maybe.  
  
Iwaizumi sighs, runs his hand through his still wet hair and thinks over what Matsukawa had told him.  
  
Whatever. It’s not really his problem if Oikawa’s home life is shitty. Maybe it’ll be even better since he’s gone missing. Maybe his parents won’t care about the supposed gay bar incident now that their son has been missing for over a month. Who knows? Doesn’t matter to him. He’ll just talk to Sugawara and Oikawa, go from there.  
  
_ If  _ they’ll talk to him, that is.  
  
Iwaizumi frowns, taps his fingers against his knee.  
  
What if they’re too fucked up to say anything? What if they just shut down and refuse to speak? He’s not sure if he’s really qualified to play keeper to someone catatonic and someone that only responds with growls and snarls. He barely managed to make it through getting Kyoutani back on his feet.  
  
God, he’s an idiot. He should have just left them there like Kyoutani said. It wasn’t his business and he sure as shit doesn’t know how he’s supposed to handle them.  
  
Fuck his bleeding heart.  
  
Iwaizumi sighs, tilts his head back against the armchair and stares out through the glass wall, stares out at Kyoutani sleeping on the couch.  
  
Well.  
  
Maybe his bleeding heart is useful, sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi and hello on [my tumblr](https://moramew.tumblr.com/)~


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warnings: reference to past sexual abuse (very vague, does not go into detail), minor violence, panic attacks.  
> I'm pretty sure that covers everything but if there's something you think should be forewarned that I missed, please let me know!

_“Look at this fucking slut. Takes it like he was made for it. Hey, you like it? You like my cock, bitch?”  
  
_ Suga snaps his eyes open, swallows back the bile that’s risen up in his throat.  
  
Where is he?  
  
He blinks and stares at the scrunched up face in front of him. Oikawa. Bed. Soft sheets.  
  
Right. That was a dream then.  
  
He sits up, flinches when his body screams at him for daring to move. He runs his hand through his hair, hunches over a bit and clutches at his locks.  
  
Everything is fuzzy. He remembers someone throwing him over their shoulder, remembers tasting sweat and digging his teeth into heated flesh. Flashes of green eyes, someone leaning over him with a needle in hand. A shower, Oikawa sobbing against him. He remembers someone telling him to calm down, sharp pain running through his chest.  
  
Suga frowns, lets go of his hair and glances down. Bandages. Some are tinted red, a bit of muddy pink.  
  
He touches the large one wrapped around his chest, remembers the curly haired doctor muttering about an infection, about how the rings didn’t even look good in the first place, how gold obviously didn’t suit Suga.  
  
Oh, right. He had taken them out.  
  
He feels a touch of relief and then disgust when his mind flashes the memory of being held down, a dirty needle piercing his flesh, fingers hooking through the rings and tugging while rough laughter sounded at his pained cries.  
  
Suga’s hands tremble and he shakes his head quickly, shakes the memory away and looks over at Oikawa. The man is still asleep, his cheeks holding dried tears. His fingers clutch at the covers so tight his knuckles are white, so tight his tendons are popped up on display.  
  
Suga hesitates, touches Oikawa’s bare shoulder. Real. He’s real.  
  
Real. Escape was real. Rescue was real.  
  
But _why_? Why was it real? Why did they rescue them? What did they want? They had to want something in return, had to expect something from them.  
  
Panic surges through him and he grips his hair again, tries to suck in a quick breath. He can’t do it. Can’t do any of _that_ again. Can’t let them touch him, dirty him up any more than he already is.  
  
_“I’m not going to hurt you. I took you from there, didn’t I?”  
  
_ Suga laughs at the little flash of memory, scoffs in disbelief. Yeah, right. As if he was going to believe that.  
  
Oikawa shifts in the bed, curls up tighter and whimpers in his sleep. Suga hesitantly reaches over and smooths a hand over the fluffed up bird’s nest of chocolate brown hair.  
  
At least they’re clean. How long has it been since he’s showered freely, since he’s been able to get clean without predatory hands grabbing him, shoving him to his knees?  
  
He shivers, swallows and hugs himself.  
  
Why? Why had they scooped them up and taken them to this place?  
  
He looks around the room, presses his lips together tight and tries to ignore the panic buzzing through him, the urge to throw up.  
  
It’s a nice room. Very nice. The wall across from him is all glass, shows off a skyline and a sea of azure blue. There are some bookshelves lining another wall, a few scattered decorations. He spots a pair of boxing gloves hanging from a chair, a gym bag near it.  
  
Suga hesitates, forces his protesting body from the bed and over to the bag. He sinks to his knees, opens it up and peeks in.  
  
Gym clothes. Slightly stinky, wrinkled up gym clothes.  
  
Suga breathes a sigh of relief, pokes a hand in and shuffles things around. He doesn’t know what he had expected. Knives? A gun? The tall one, the one with the green eyes had bashed Karn’s head in with a pipe so maybe they didn’t have those.  
  
Oh. But didn’t the blonde put a bullet through someone’s head? Or did he just dream that?  
  
H e sits back on his haunches, breathes deep and runs his hands through his hair. He needs a plan. Some way to get out of this place, get to safety.  
  
But what place is safe? Can he go back to his dorms? What if someone is waiting for him? What if their _saviors_ hadn’t killed everybody? What if someone is looking for him, looking for Oikawa?  
  
Suga brings a knuckle up to his mouth, bites the skin nervously.  
  
He can’t go back. Not just yet. And he can’t leave Oikawa alone. Not with these strangers, not without knowing where he can take him. The brunette can’t go home; he had spit out so many bitter words about his parents, about how they had tossed him away for being a _disappointment_ _._  
  
Suga rocks a little bit, tries to breathe.  
  
They hadn’t hurt them. They had let them shower, let a  _doctor_ look over them, let them sleep in a warm, comfortable bed. They hadn’t been touched or beaten.  
  
That doesn’t mean they’re safe.  
  
A low moan escapes him and he grits his teeth, a sudden flash of pain running through his head.  
  
Hurts. It hurts. His head and his body and his everything _hurts_ _._  
  
How had he slept through the night? Did they drug him? He thinks he can remember a needle going into his arm, the curly haired doctor talking quietly about him and Oikawa needing rest.  
  
Drugs. _Shit_ _._ What if his body hurting is part of withdrawal? They had stuck so many things in him, made him doped up and out of it so many times. Is his body going to protest? Scream at him when nothing numbs him? He had never done anything before being taken away, doesn’t know how it worked.  
  
_“Koushi Sugawara, you’re too much a good boy.”  
  
_ The flash of memory, the image of one of the art students he had hung out with at a party, watching him snort some chopped up pills while teasing him makes Suga flinch, laugh bitterly.  
  
If he’s so good how did he get in this situation?  
  
He pushes the memory away, the bitterness away. No time for that. He needs to figure things out.  
  
There’s a head rush when he stands up and he squeezes his eyes shut, tries not to sway.  
  
Oikawa is still sleeping when he looks over, is still curled up and clutching at the covers. Suga thinks this is the most he has ever seen the man rest since...well, since he had first met him.  
  
Suga rifles around the room slowly, looking for anything that can possibly help him. There’s a tiny little penknife in one of the nightstands but not much else. He hesitates, plucks it up and clenches it into his fist.  
  
He doesn’t want to leave the room. But waiting means more time for his nerves to fray even further. He can’t wait around, let his thoughts cloud his mind over.  
  
He just has to bite the bullet, get it over with. Find one of them and try to get some answers.  
  
Oikawa will be fine, he tells himself. He needs the rest.  
  
Suga slides the penknife into the left pocket of the too big sweatpants and takes a sweater from the laundry basket. He isn’t going around shirtless. If it pisses them off, it probably still won’t be as bad as anything he had suffered through for the past god knows how long.  
  
Suga swallows, touches the knife through the sweatpants and glances over to Oikawa. Still asleep.  
  
He opens the bedroom door slowly, takes a deep breath to try to calm his nerves. He almost retreats back into the bedroom, almost hides under the covers to cry.  
  
No. He needs to get it over with. Putting it off will just make it worse.  
  
He takes another breath, touches the knife through sweatpants again. One more breath and then he steps out into the hallway, draws the door half-shut behind him.  
  
Suga hesitates. He isn’t sure where he’s supposed to go. There’s what he thinks is a living room ahead, a door cracked open across the hall. But...is that coffee he smells?  
  
His stomach grumbles and he nearly whimpers as presses his hands to it. He’s so _hungry_ _._  
  
Suga bites his lip, takes a hesitant step down the hall and toward the living room. Living rooms are usually near kitchens, right? And if he smells coffee, someone is probably there...right?  
  
He sighs in frustration, takes a few more steps and pauses to listen for any movement.  
  
Nothing.  
  
He swallows, touches the knife again for reassurance and then forces his feet forward, one step at a time. The floor is cold underneath his bare feet and he regrets not getting a pair of socks to go along with the sweater.  
  
He hovers in the hallway for a moment, panic fluttering through him as he stares into the living room. No one is in it. There’s just more glass walls, nice furniture and a large tv. He spots a bat against the couch, some long, wooden thing caked with what he suspects is blood.  
  
Suga swallows, presses a hand to his mouth.  
  
It’s okay. It’s going to be fine. He’ll just remember the bat if needed, remember to run for it if he has to. He doubts he could do that much damage but he can do _something_ if he’s forced to.  
  
He takes a deep breath, steps into the living room and looks around.  
  
To the right is more of the living room, a peek toward more of the...it’s a penthouse, right? That’s what Green Eyes had said, Suga thinks.  
  
To the left is an open area, two steps that lead up to where a dining room is. A little cutout doorway is along the wall and when Suga leans to the side to peek through it he can just make out a stove and a refrigerator.  
  
His first thought goes to food. Food and then more knives.  
  
Suga bites his lip, takes a shaky step forward.  
  
Fine. It’s going to be fine. He’s going to be fine. Oikawa is going to be fine. Everything is going to be-  
  
He jerks when someone steps through the kitchen doorway and into the living room. It takes a split second to take in spiky, dark brown hair, black sweatpants, a bleached out tank top, tired olive eyes and tan skin.  
  
Green Eyes.  
  
Suga feels a split second of relief that it’s him and not the other one. Relief and then panic again, fear.  
  
The man blinks at him, yawns and raises a hand to scratch at the back of his neck.  
  
“You’re awake,” Green Eyes rumbles out, yawning again. “What about the other one?”  
  
Suga blinks, tries to say something but fails. He doesn’t know what he had expected but somehow it just really wasn’t this.  
  
The man raises the mug in his hand, drinks from it. Suga’s eyes dart to the porcelain, to the messy hair to the cuts on the man’s hands and then to his arms.  
  
Maybe Biceps would make for a better nickname.  
  
The man eyes him and sighs as if mildly disappointed. “Still not talking, huh?”  
  
“What do you want from us?” Suga blurts out, voice raspy. He flinches, takes a half-step back when the man frowns. “What do you- why did you-”  
  
He trips over his own tongue, swallows frustration and hates how his voice shakes.  
  
“Um,” the man says. He blinks, cocks his head and frowns a bit deeper. “I don’t want anything from you?”  
  
It comes out uncertain, almost confused. Suga narrows his eyes, takes a step forward.  
  
“I don’t believe you,” he snaps out. “Don’t try to trick me. Just tell me what you want and get it over with.”  
  
“I don’t want anything,” the man snaps back. He scowls then and runs a hand through his hair. “Why the fuck would I want anything from you?”  
  
Suga almost screams at him. Almost screams why not, almost screams that everyone else has wanted something from him.  
  
He swallows instead and takes a shaky breath.  
  
“Then why did you take us?” he asks, trying not to snap again, trying to stay calm.  
  
“I don’t know,” the man shoots back almost instantly. “Do I need a reason other than I wanted to?”  
  
“But why would you want to?” Suga hisses out, completely unable to reel in his frustration and panic. He grits his teeth, clenches a fist. “You could have left us. Taking us means you must have something in mind.”  
  
“I don’t have anything in mind,” the man denies, lips twisted in frustration.  
  
“Liar,” Suga snaps. “You’re a liar.”  
  
“Why the fuck would I lie?” the man snaps back. He takes a step forward and Suga flinches. “I don’t want anything from you.”  
  
Suga clenches his jaw, opens his mouth to say something.  
  
His stomach growls.  
  
He glares down at it, glares back up at the man when he snorts.  
  
“Get your ass in the kitchen,” Green Eyes tells him. “I’ll get you something to eat.”  
  
Suga narrows his eyes, brushes his knuckles over the knife in his pocket.  
  
“Come on,” the man says, words annoyed now. “I’m not going to poison you or anything.”  
  
Suga stiffens, takes a step back. No way. He isn’t going to risk it.  
  
The man rolls his eyes, steps forward and grabs Suga’s left wrist. He pulls Suga toward the kitchen and Suga __tries_ _ to protest but all that comes from him is a weak, pathetic little noise that makes him even more frustrated with himself. He tries digging his heels into the floor and the man shoots him an irritated look, yanks him forward and pushes him toward a bar stool.  
  
“Sit,” he says, a stern look on his face. “Just _sit_ _.”_  
  
Suga glares at him, grips the counter and tries not to just bolt from the room. His heart pounds and he lets his eyes dart around, trying to see if there is anything he can use lying about within reach.  
  
Would a spoon be effective in a fight?  
  
“Do you want coffee?”  
  
The question makes Suga’s eyes snap back to the man, makes him jump.  
  
Coffee. He likes coffee. When was the last time he had coffee? He can’t remember. Was it the morning they had been taken? When Suga had met Oikawa at the campus cafe before class? Yes, yes it was. Oikawa had such a wide smile on his face and his laughter had been so infectious and he had looked so good in his button up and-  
  
Suga shakes himself mentally, tries to flick away the memory and the aching feeling beginning to blossom in his chest.  
  
The man waits a bit impatiently, sighs and taps his fingers against the counter. Suga slowly nods, watching him like a hawk when he grabs the coffee pot.  
  
The man __almost_ _ seems to smile, his lips twitching just a bit when he plucks a black and red checkered mug from a drainer. Suga watches him pour coffee into it, watches him slide the pot back in place and then plop the mug in front of him. He narrows his eyes at the steaming liquid and looks back up at him.  
  
The man sighs, picks the mug up and drinks from it.  
  
“Happy?”  
  
No, he isn’t fucking _happy_ _._  
  
He manages to hold his tongue, nods curtly and wraps his hands around the mug. Some bratty, petty part of him doesn’t want to drink the coffee, wants to refuse to take a sip without the cream and sugar needed to make it actually taste good.  
  
The man apparently doesn’t need cream and sugar. He just pours himself another cup and drinks the bitter brew down easily.  
  
Heathen. No wonder he can bash skulls in so easily.  
  
Suga scowls, pulls the mug to him and watches the man open the fridge up.  
  
“So what do you want?” the man asks, turning his head toward him. “There’s still some bacon and eggs left. Doc said you really shouldn’t have a lot at a time until you get used to normal portions again.”  
  
Suga purses his lips, bites back the desire to just blurt out that he could eat anything and everything at the moment. He bites back the desire to tell the man to go fuck himself, to leave him alone.  
  
“Eggs,” he says after a moment of silence. The man raises a brow and Suga grits his teeth, tries not to huff. _“_ _Please_ _.”_  
  
“Sunny-side up okay?” the man asks.  
  
Suga nods and feels the tension in his shoulders betray him by relaxing a little. He looks around the room again and frowns at a laundry basket filled with blood stained clothes.  
  
Ignore it, he tells himself. He just needs to ignore it. It’s not there.  
  
Silence reigns, the only noise being the hiss of eggs cooking and the man shuffling around, grabbing a few things. Suga fidgets, tries a sip of the coffee and makes a face.  
  
“...where’s the other one?” he asks quietly, breaking the silence when it gets to be too much.  
  
The man shrugs, muscles moving under a thin tank top. He has a giant tattoo on his back, something black and turquoise. Suga hates that he can’t stop his eyes from staring at it and trying to figure out what the tank top is hiding, tells himself he just wants to memorize it just in case he has to give anyone identifying marks about the man.  
  
“Running errands, probably,” the man answers. “He should be back soon, I think.”  
  
Suga takes a breath, blows it out and makes his fringe dance. This is too normal. It’s weird. It feels wrong, feels like he’s dreaming almost.  
  
He pinches his thigh and flinches. No, awake.  
  
Suga swallows, bites the inside of his cheek and eyes the man. He just keeps watch over the eggs, shifting them over to a plate when done. He shoves it toward Suga, gives him a fork and a butter knife. Suga scoffs, wonders if the man really thinks it’s a good idea to give Suga anything he can get stabby with.  
  
He considers sinking the fork into the back of the man’s hand, trying to run and leave.  
  
But, no. There’s Oikawa to think about. How tired his legs are. How this guy would probably just grab his head and bang it against the counter before he could even hop off the bar stool. How he doesn’t even know where he was.  
  
He gingerly picks up the utensils, studies the eggs on the plate. They looks good, cooked properly. Suga bites his lip, glances up at the man and mutters a quiet “thank you.”  
  
He slices the egg open, blinks and then freezes when golden yolk oozes out. The color suddenly makes him flinch, the way it pours out makes him gag.  
  
Because it’s yellow like a tie one of the men used to wear, yellow like the spray of liquid that had splashed on him while harsh laughter played in the background, yellow like the bile that always escaped him after he was used, yellow like the cracked, ugly tile that they had been forced to sleep on.  
  
He finds himself on the floor, hands in his hair and breath hard to come by. His ass hurts. His chest hurts. His head hurts. It’s impossible to breathe, to think. Everything hurts and all he can see are rough faces and rotten teeth and Oikawa bruised and sobbing and people walking toward him with sharp things and-  
  
“Shh, shh. Calm down, it’s okay.”  
  
Suga flinches, whimpers when a hand touches his face, when a thumb smooths over his cheekbone. He clutches blindly for the knife in his pocket, gasps and tries to tell the man to not touch him, to leave him alone.  
  
“What the fuck did you do to him?”  
  
Suga’s eyes snaps over to the new voice, breath quickening when the blonde walks over to them.  
  
_Don’t get near me_ _,_ his mind screams. _Don’t touch me. Stay away.  
  
_ “I didn’t do anything,” the man snaps at the blonde. “He just started freaking out.”  
  
The blonde frowns, crouches down next to Suga. Suga’s hand wraps around the knife and he fumbles with it in his pocket, manages to get it open. The blonde opens his mouth to say something, reaches out to grab his shoulder.  
  
Suga stabs him.  
  
There’s an immediate curse, a hand raised. Suga pushes himself back, bumps against the bloody laundry basket and lets out a choked shriek. He scrambles to his feet, bolts from the room as fast as his exhausted legs will allow him to.  
  
There’s the sound of footsteps behind him, an annoyed voice barking at him to stop. He ignores it, kicks back when someone grabs onto the sweater and then lunges for the baseball bat. He nearly trips over himself but manages to scoop it up, wrap his hands around the worn handle. Suga turns, brings it up and tries to swing it as hard as he can at the blonde that had popped up behind him.  
  
The man grabs it in midair and growls. And then Suga is on the floor, pinned beneath the man with the bat pressing against his neck and cutting off his air supply. He tries to bring a knee up, tries to scratch at him. But the man just keeps him pinned down, glaring at him.  
  
“Not bad.”  
  
Suga’s eyes dart over to the side and he tries to breathe, tries to move away when Green Eyes crouches down beside him.  
  
Green Eyes smiles at him and then looks over at the blonde. “Back off a bit. Let him breathe.”  
  
The blonde scoffs, gets off Suga and Suga backpedals, hits the side of the couch and tries not to hyperventilate. Green Eyes sighs, moves over so he’s crouched down in front of Suga. Suga tries to edge away but then there’s a hand in his hair holding him in place and keeping him from escaping.  
  
He glares at the man and tries not to whimper.  
  
“Listen,” Green Eyes says, a little annoyed look on his face. “I don’t want to be a bad guy and put cuffs on you or anything. But you can’t just stab us. We haven’t done anything to you and we’re not going to do anything to you. So knock it the fuck off.”  
  
“Where the hell did he even get this?” the blonde mutters. Suga’s eyes snap over to him and he flinches when the man pulls the knife out of his leg. How can he do that so easily? Doesn’t it hurt? “And why the fuck is it always me?”  
  
A hand touches his face and Suga inhales sharply, tries to jerk his head back but only succeeds in pulling his hair tight in the man’s grasp. Green Eyes frowns a little deeper, taps Suga’s cheek as if scolding him.  
  
“No stabbing,” he says. “No more stabbing and no more biting. I’m trying to be a good guy here, you know? I don’t mind helping you, but if you’re going to keep this up I’m just going to drop Oikawa off with his family and kick you out to go wherever.”  
  
Suga freezes, stares at the man. No. _No_ _._ He can’t _..._ _fuck_ _._ He can’t get them kicked out. Not until he knows where he can go, how he can make sure Oikawa is safe.  
  
Green Eyes raises a brow and tilts his head to the side a bit. “You going to behave then?”  
  
Suga grits his teeth and nods, tries not to flinch when his hair gets pulled again by the movement.  
  
“Not good enough,” Green Eyes tells him. “Use your words.”  
  
__Fuck_ _ this asshole.  
  
Suga glares at him and swallows the urge to snap before grinding out, “I’ll _behave_ _.”_  
  
The man smiles, removes his hand from Suga’s hair before standing up. He pats Suga’s head like he’s a fucking __child_ _ and Suga almost bites him then and there. He grits his teeth instead, pulls his knees tighter to his chest and glares.  
  
“Good,” Green Eyes tells him. “Now apologize.”  
  
Suga swallows back the urge to huff, flicks his gaze over to the blonde and mutters out a quick “sorry.” The man grunts in response, opens his mouth to say something to Green Eyes.  
  
“Do we still have-”  
  
“Koushi?”  
  
Suga’s head immediately snaps over to the source of the slurred voice and he jumps up at the sight of Oikawa swaying in the hallway, a blanket wrapped around him and eyes holding confusion, incomprehension. He runs over even though his body begs him not to move, to just collapse so it can rest. Suga ignores his body’s protests and puts his hands to the man’s face, tries to soothe him when a questioning little noise escapes from Oikawa.  
  
“Where...where are…” Oikawa squeezes his eyes shut, brow furrowing. “I don’t…”  
  
Oh, _fuck_ _._ Are there still drugs in his system? Did whatever the doctor give them fuck with his head? Is this some sort of trauma?  
  
Suga swallows his panic, shushes the brunette gently.  
  
“We’re okay, Tooru,” he tells him, praying to the gods it wasn’t a lie. “It’s okay.”  
  
Oikawa’s eyes open and he slumps a bit, pulls the blanket tighter around him.  
  
“What the hell is wrong with him?”  
  
Suga glares over at the blonde, bites back a snap and struggles to keep his mouth under control.  
  
“I don’t _know_ _,”_ Suga hisses out. “He’s fine. He’s...he’s going to be fine.”  
  
The blonde lets out a disbelieving snort and Suga feels the tiny trace of guilt he had been harboring for stabbing the man disappear. Green Eyes frowns and tilts his head to the side just a bit as he eyes them.  
  
“Get him back to bed,” he orders. “Doc will be here in a bit to check up on you two. You stay with him; I’ll bring you guys something to eat.”  
  
Suga grimaces at the thought of food, hates his stomach for growling again.  
  
“What was it?” Green Eyes asks before Suga can rush off with Oikawa. “What set you off? The eggs?”  
  
He feels heat flourish on his cheeks and shakes his head, stares at Oikawa and the way his lashes flutter at the man’s voice instead of looking over at Green Eyes. Suga feels light humiliation, repulsion for his moment of __weakness_ _ run through him.  
  
“Yellow,” he mutters out. “Yellow. I can’t…”  
  
“No eggs then,” Green Eyes says. “Go rest up. I’ll bring you something.”  
  
Suga hesitates, almost opens his mouth to thank him. He gently turns Oikawa instead, herds him back to the bedroom. He suddenly feels exhausted, suddenly feels like curling up and sleeping his life away.  
  
“Koushi,” Oikawa slurs again. “Koushi...why…why are we…”  
  
Suga shushes him once more, prods him into climbing back into the bed. He slides in beside him, tries to stop himself from wrapping his arms around the man and holding him close.  
  
Suga leans back against the pillows instead, closes his eyes and tries to gather his thoughts. There’s a sudden weight on his shoulder, Oikawa’s hands wrapping around his arm. Suga lets him cling to him, lets him shiver against him.  
  
“How do you feel?” Suga murmurs.  
  
“Hurts,” Oikawa tells him, voice small, almost childlike. “It’s hard to...hard to think…”  
  
Suga opens his eyes and takes a deep breath, swallows back the lump in his throat that’s threatening to form.  
  
Fuck.  
  
_Please don’t let Tooru have any brain damage_ _,_ Suga pleads silently to whatever is out there. _Please. He’s so brilliant and he’s been through so much. **Please**.  
  
_ “Who are they?” Oikawa asks, words coming out slow. “Who...they were…”  
  
Suga hesitates and bites his lip. “I...they saved us. I don’t know who they are.”  
  
There’s a little humming noise, a blink from Oikawa. The brunette’s eyes close and Suga takes a shaky breath, gives into need and pulls Oikawa closer to him.  
  
What is he supposed to do? What __can_ _ he do? Oikawa’s mind is muddled and Suga’s body hurts and they don’t have any place to go to and he’s so __tired_ _ and-  
  
Suga bites down on his tongue, forces the pain to halt his anxiety temporarily.  
  
He can’t get worked up. That’s never helped anything. He needs to figure things out. They won’t be able to stay here forever- Suga doesn’t _want_ to stay here forever. But he doesn’t know if they can leave, how they can leave.  
  
A sharp pain jolts through his head and Suga hisses, flexes his fingers so they don’t dig into Oikawa’s flesh.  
  
Gods, fuck. It __is_ _ hard to think. Is it from drugs left floating through his system? Exhaustion? Hunger? Trauma?  
  
Suga swallows a moan, turns his head and buries it in messy brown hair.  
  
He needs to think. It hurts to think. He just wants to sleep. Well, he wants to eat, too. But mostly he just wants to sleep again.  
  
Yeah, no way in hell he’s going to do that. They hadn’t done anything- that he’s _aware_ of, his mind insists with more than a touch of paranoia- while he slept, yes. But that doesn’t mean he trusts them to keep their hands to themselves if he falls asleep again. And with Oikawa’s thought process seeming so slow…  
  
He cuts off the negative thoughts before they can get worse, before his mind decides to display images to go along with them.  
  
Suga does __not_ _ trust them. He doesn’t trust them one little bit. Yes, the two men had saved them. Yes, they had brought him and Oikawa somewhere supposedly safe. Yes, they had let them shower and wear clean clothes and had a doctor look at them. Yes, they hadn’t confined them or touched them or hurt them. Yes, they hadn’t hit him for stabbing the blonde. Yes, Green Eyes is supposedly making breakfast for them right now and the doctor is coming again. Yes, there’s all of that.  
  
It still doesn’t change the fact that Green Eyes had busted someone’s head in with a metal pipe, had done it without blinking an eye. It doesn’t change the fact that there’s a basket of bloody clothes in the kitchen, a baseball bat caked with scarlet in the living room. It doesn’t change the fact that his instincts are screaming that they’re dangerous, that they can’t be trusted.  
  
Green Eyes says he doesn’t want anything from them? _Bullshit_ _._ Everyone wants something. And he’s hiding it, waiting to spring it on them and pull guilt through them with a simple little mention of jerking them out of hell. He isn’t to be trusted; Suga knows he isn’t.  
  
That’s why he glares at the man when he walks in, his body automatically moving so Oikawa is almost half hidden behind him. Oikawa makes a little tired noise and Suga regrets moving for a split second.  
  
“Bacon,” Green Eyes says, placing a plate down on the nightstand by the bed. “Bacon and toast. I, uh, didn’t know if you guys would like jam or anything.”  
  
Suga narrows his eyes, regards the food with distrust. The man rolls his eyes, grabs a piece of toast and bites into it.  
  
“It’s not fucking poisoned,” Green Eyes tells him. “That was a joke. If I wanted to kill you I’d just put a bullet through your head.”  
  
A joke. Of course. Haha, _very fucking funny_ _._  
  
Suga glares at him, glares harder when Oikawa leans over Suga and tilts his head up to look at the man. Green Eyes glances over at Suga, then focuses on Oikawa, studying the brunette with a curious little look.  
  
Suga wants to snarl at him, snap at him to not look at Oikawa, to just leave them alone.  
  
But he had promised to _behave_ _._ And snapping might upset Oikawa.  
  
So he has to sit there, watch as Oikawa blinks up slowly at Green Eyes, long lashes dusting over too prominent cheekbones.  
  
“Did you…” Oikawa blinks, frowns. “Did you...save us?”  
  
Green Eyes flicks his gaze over to Suga and then back to Oikawa. He nods and Oikawa smiles softly, sleepily.  
  
“What’s...what’s your name?” Oikawa asks.  
  
A good question.  
  
Suga narrows his eyes and watches as Green Eyes frowns, hesitation all over his face. He opens his mouth but then suddenly there’s a new voice sounding through the room, cutting him off before he can say anything.  
  
“Daddy, I’m home.”  
  
Suga snaps his head over to the doorway, tenses at the presence of the doctor, of someone tall with faded pink hair. The blonde hovers behind them, something annoyed on his face.  
  
Suga thinks that might just be his default expression.  
  
There’s a confused little noise and Suga’s eyes widen when he hears Oikawa’s voice, quiet and innocent and holding so much confusion.  
  
“Daddy?”  
  
Mortification for Oikawa floods through Suga and he feels his face pale. Suga looks back over at Green Eyes and immediately pulls Oikawa away, pushes him back to the side and further away from the man. Suga snarls at the way Green Eyes is staring at Oikawa, a little wide eyed and shocked. There’s a laugh from the doorway and the sound of footsteps but Suga ignores it in favor of glaring up at Green Eyes.  
  
Well, ignores it until someone grabs his chin and forces him to look at them. The new man, Pink Hair, is in his face now. Something a bit amused is tugging on the corners of his lips, a little smirk threatening to form.  
  
“You must be the one that bit my Issei,” he drawls out. “That wasn’t very nice, you know.”  
  
Suga wants to spit in his face, scratch at him and scream at him to __stop touching him._  
  
_ There’s an annoyed huff and suddenly Pink Hair is yanked away, Green Eyes holding him by the collar of his suit jacket.  
  
“Knock it off,” Green Eyes snaps. “What are you even doing here?”  
  
“Just wanted to meet your new boy toys,” Pink Hair tells him, lazily waving a hand around. His eyes trail over Suga and then Oikawa and Suga tries not to flinch, push back against the pillows. “Gotta say, Daddy, they’re a bit nicer than our Mad Dog over here. Certainly prettier than anything else you’ve drug home before.”  
  
“Call me Daddy one more time and I __will_ _ break your nose,” Green Eyes warns him. “Don’t make me do it again.”  
  
Pink Hair sighs, sounding almost disappointed. He nods, though, and Green Eyes lets him go. Suga glares over at them, glares when the doctor and the blonde walk into the room finally.  
  
“And how are my newest patients feeling today?” the curly haired man asks, waltzing over to the bed. “Bet you’re starting to feel some pain now, huh?”  
  
Suga presses his lips together, refuses to admit that yes, he is in pain. Yes, everything hurts. Yes, he wants something to dull the pain _please_ _._ Oikawa lets out a little noise beside him and grabs onto Suga’s borrowed sweater.  
  
“Who is he?” Oikawa whispers.  
  
Suga swallows, hesitates before looking over at the brunette and offering a smile that he hopes isn’t too obviously forced.  
  
“A doctor,” Suga tells him. “He’s the one that stitched us up last night.”  
  
Oikawa frowns a bit and tightens his grip on the sweater. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something but closes it, buries his face against Suga’s shoulder.  
  
“Speaking of stitches,” Green Eyes pipes up. “Uh, we need you to stitch someone else up.”  
  
The doctor raises a brow and moves his gaze over to the little group standing at the foot of the bed.  
  
“Someone else?” he asks. “Don’t tell me you’ve already picked up another pet?”  
  
“They’re not _pets_ _,”_ Green Eyes snaps, frustration clear in his voice. “You two need to knock it _off_ _.”_  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” the doctor drawls. “Who needs my healing touch?”  
  
“Him,” Green Eyes says, jerking a thumb over to the blonde. “He got stabbed.”  
  
“Really?” the doctor asks dryly, looking back at Suga. “What a surprise.”  
  
Suga feels his cheeks heat up but doesn’t look away, show any embarrassment. The asshole had __deserved_ _ it; it isn’t __Suga’s_ _ fault that he had panicked.  
  
“Well,” the doctor says with a knowing little smile, “I suppose I can stitch him up too.”  
  
“It’s fine,” the blonde grunts out. “Just give me what I need and I can do it.”  
  
“Oh, I don’t think that I’m the one that can give you what you need,” the doctor says, words coming out strangely coy. The blonde’s eyes narrows and the man throws up his hands, laughs. “Fine, fine. Just give me a second.”  
  
Suga stares at them, confusion momentarily outweighing his fear, paranoia, frustration.  
  
Who are these people?  
  
He lets his eyes trail over them, frowning as he tries to sort them out. Green Eyes and the blonde are obviously...something. He can’t say what they are. Maybe yakuza or maybe some rogue gang members or hitmen. He doesn’t know. He __does_ _ know that they’re dangerous, that they scare him, that he doesn’t want them near him or Oikawa.  
  
The doctor is...a doctor? Is he an actual doctor? Or is he some bullshit underground practitioner? And what about Pink Hair? That one had called the doctor Issei. Is it his name? His real one? A fake?  
  
Suga blinks hard, squeezes his eyes shut when pain spikes through his skull.  
  
He doesn’t know any of their names. And it’s so obvious that Green Eyes and the blonde are trying to keep it quiet. But…  
  
Those two know __their_ _ names. They know that he’s Koushi Sugawara, know that Oikawa is Tooru Oikawa. Did they know before they took them away from that hellhole? Or did they only find out after they __saved_ _ them?  
  
Panic surges up in him and he pulls Oikawa closer to him, stares over at the men.  
  
What are they going to do to them? If they knew that Oikawa’s parents had handed him over to clear a debt would they try to force him back to them? Let them go freely? Or would they take it as an opportunity to dangle Oikawa back in front of that shitty little syndicate and its remaining members? Did they even kill Kuma? Is he still out there? Are he and Oikawa going to be forgotten, dismissed? Or-  
  
He takes a shuddering breath and tries to claw away the panic that’s rising in him. He can’t afford to break down. Not here. Not with two potential hitmen and two mystery figures standing a few feet away.  
  
Fuck, though. _Fuck_ _._  
  
There’s so much to think about and he doesn’t know what to do. How is he supposed to get them out of this? How are they supposed to be okay again?  
  
Suga swallows a whimper, presses his lips tighter, glares a bit more fiercely.  
  
Later. He’ll panic later.  
  
“Right then,” the doctor- Issei?- says, walking back over to them. “Time to give you two a nice little look over.”  
  
Suga flinches, stiffens when Oikawa lets out a small noise. He looks over, sees that the brunette is tightening up into a smaller ball and staring at the other men in fear.  
  
“Oi, you all get out,” Issei calls over to the group at the end of the bed. “I don’t need you distracting me.”  
  
There’s an eye roll from Green Eyes, a bored look from the blonde, some sickly sweet smile flashed Suga’s way from Pink Hair. Green Eyes sighs and herds the men from the room, closing the door as they leave.  
  
Quiet reigns for a moment and Suga has to grip at the covers to hide his shaking hands.  
  
“Right. Who wants their shot first?” Issei asks, digging into a bag and pulling out a box of latex gloves.  
  
Oikawa whimpers when Issei sits on the bed, snaps a pair of gloves on and takes out a sealed bag with a needle, a little vial holding contents Suga isn’t quite sure of. Oikawa’s fingers dig into his arm when Issei raises a brow, cocks his head and sighs.  
  
“It’s just going to help with the pain,” the doctor says. “It’s legitimate medicine, nothing like that shit they were shooting you up with.”  
  
Suga winces, rubs his arm through his borrowed sweater and tries not to imagine all the little track marks dotting it. Oikawa shakes his head, buries it deeper into Suga’s shoulder.  
  
“Come on,” the doctor tells him, voice holding a vague trace of annoyance. “It’s going to make you feel good.”  
  
__“It’ll make you feel so, so good. You’re going to be flying high, baby.”_  
  
_ Suga flinches at the unwelcome memory, at the image of someone crouching down and grabbing his arm and sticking a needle in it, pushing junk into his veins and laughing as he cried.  
  
“No,” Suga croaks out. “No, don’t-”  
  
“You really want to be in pain then?” Issei asks dryly, cutting him off. “You want __him_ _ to be in pain? He’s not going to have anything left in his system soon and I can tell you that it’s not going to be fucking pretty when it’s all gone. You think Oikawa-san over there is a mess right now? Just wait until he’s balled up in a corner and crying because every inch of him hurts and he refused to let me give him some help.”  
  
Suga winces, glares at the man. Oikawa whimpers, clings to him and sniffles.  
  
“Koushi, please. I don’t wanna.”  
  
Oh, god. _Fuck_ _._  
  
His eyes sting and he squeezes them shut, tries not to shake.  
  
Oikawa needs it. He needs something to help dull down the pain. But forcing him is just…  
  
Suga swallows, opens his eyes and turns to the brunette. He gently runs a hand over him, pets at him and tries to soothe him.  
  
“Tooru,” he whispers. Oikawa whimpers, digs his fingers even deeper into Suga’s arm. Suga winces, takes a shaky little breath. “Tooru, it’s okay. You said you were hurting, didn’t you?”  
  
There’s a quiet whine and Oikawa looks at him, eyes shining and bottom lip trembling. He looks like he’s __this_ _ close to crying and it hurts so, so much.  
  
“But Koushi,” Oikawa whines, sniffling just a bit. “I don’t wanna.”  
  
“I know, Tooru,” Suga whispers. He swallows all the self-loathing and forces what he hopes is a reassuring smile onto his face, traces over Oikawa’s cheek with gentle fingers. “It’ll be okay, I promise. It’s going to help you stop hurting. You can close your eyes and just pretend it’s not happening, pretend it’s just a little pinch.”  
  
Oikawa sniffles again, presses his face against Suga’s shoulder again.  
  
“I’m tired of pretending,” he mumbles.  
  
_Fuck_ _._  
  
Suga squeezes his eyes shut, feels his shoulders hunch forward and presses his lips together tight so he doesn’t whimper, begin to cry.  
  
Fuck. Why? Why did this happen to them? It isn’t _fair_ _._  
  
He tries to gather himself, takes a little breath and runs his hand down Oikawa’s back, strokes over him as softly as he can.  
  
“I know, Tooru,” he whispers. “I know. I am too. But this is going to help, I promise. Please?”  
  
Another whine, another whimper. Suga glares over at the doctor when he hears a sigh, sends him the coldest look he can muster before turning to Oikawa and tilting his head up. He cups his cheek, smooths his thumb over the too visible bone.  
  
“Tooru, _please_ _,”_ he tries. “Please, for me. I want you to stop hurting.”  
  
Oikawa’s lips tremble and tears threaten to spill over. He looks so _scared_ _._  
  
Suga swallows, presses his forehead against Oikawa’s and shuts his eyes so he doesn’t have to see it anymore, doesn’t have to see the man frightened and out of it.  
  
“Please, Tooru,” he begs, hating when his voice breaks. _“Please_ _."_  
  
There’s a whimper, a tiny little nod and Suga opens his eyes, sighs in relief. He looks over at Issei, tries to keep his face composed and calm under the bored look the doctor gives him.  
  
“Where do you need to inject it?” he asks, some part of him proud that his voice manages to stay level.  
  
“His arm is fine,” the doctor tells him. “Right one might be easiest.”  
  
Suga takes a breath and nods, touches Oikawa’s shoulder gently. “Come on, Tooru.”  
  
The brunette trembles but lets the blanket around him drop. He shuffles into Suga’s lap shakily and hides his face in the crook of Suga’s neck, sticks his arm out. Suga forces himself to watch as Issei grabs Oikawa’s arm, turns it and sticks the needle into him. Oikawa whimpers against his neck but Suga just pats at him gently, keeps his eyes on the doctor.  
  
“Ah, got it on the first try,” Issei murmurs. “Right. Your turn.”  
  
“No,” Suga says quickly, firmly. “Take care of him first.”  
  
The doctor scoffs, rolls his eyes. “Whatever. I’m just giving you two a check up. Unless you opened up your stitches I won’t need to actually do anything.”  
  
Suga narrows his eyes, shakes his head again. There’s no way he was going to risk being in a fog and leave Oikawa defenseless. He can take the pain.  
  
Issei sighs, chucks the needle into a trash bin nearby.  
  
“Really,” the man says, “you’re being a little ridiculous.”  
  
Ridiculous? He’s being _ridiculous_ _?_  
  
Suga almost hisses at him, snaps at him. Oikawa keeps him grounded, though, making tiny little whining noises against his neck.  
  
_Fuck_ this asshole. He’s going to __behave_ _ but fuck this _asshole_ _._ Do they really expect him to trust them? Fall all over himself and let them do whatever the fuck they want with them?  
  
“Whatever,” the doctor says with a sigh. “Move him over so I can look him over.”  
  
Suga purses his lips, shuffles Oikawa out of his lap and sits by his side, watches the doctor like a hawk. Oikawa flinches when the man touches him, peeks at the bandages wrapped all around his body.  
  
“These need to be changed,” Issei says. “I assume you two haven’t showered yet?”  
  
“No,” Suga answers quietly.  
  
“Right. That’s good,” the man says, eyeing Oikawa with a tilt of his head. “I’m going to take these off of him and change them. You’re going to have to wait another day before you can shower or bathe. Stitches might get infected if you take one now.”  
  
Suga flinches at the thought, nods his understanding.  
  
“You two need to get tested as well,” Issei continues absently, critically eyeing a little set of stitches along Oikawa’s hip. “I can’t do that here, though. We’ll need to get you to the clinic.”  
  
Clinic? Tested?  
  
Suga blinks, digs his hands into the covers to hide the way they’re shaking. He tries to distract himself with the thought that this guy might be a legitimate doctor, might have his own practice.  
  
Tries.  
  
Bile rises up in his throat and he has to swallow it down, keep his back tight so he doesn’t hunch over and hurl all over himself.  
  
Tested. Fuck. _Fuck_ _._  
  
He had worried about it so much when he was in that hell, worried so much about one of those filthy bastards giving him some sort of disease, tainting him further. He doesn’t want to think about it. Doesn’t want to imagine that they left him with something. Doesn’t want to recognize the risk of being even more dirtied up and fouled than he already thinks he is.  
  
A ragged gasp slides out of him and he claws at the covers, tightens his hold on them. He can feel Issei looking at him but he just can’t calm down, can’t keep it together.  
  
He lets out a choked little moan, reaches out and grabs Oikawa’s hand, squeezes it to try to ground himself, pull himself away from panic. The brunette gives a little whine of his name, tugs him from his fear and helps him transfer it into just worrying over Oikawa instead.  
  
It takes a minute for Suga to be able to breathe easily again, to stop his chest from heaving. He swallows, brings his knees to his chest and hugs them with his free arm before looking over at Issei.  
  
“Are you a real doctor?” he whispers.  
  
The man clicks his tongue, nods as he makes Oikawa sit up and turn so he can look at his back. Suga ignores the burns and scratch marks down Oikawa’s chest, all the bruises and stitches and scars. He just stares at Oikawa’s lips, his cheekbones, his messy hair instead, tries to keep calm.  
  
“I run a private practice,” Issei drawls out. “I’ll have them bring you two in when it’s closed.”  
  
Suga flinches at the thought of going outside, leaving the unsure safety of the penthouse. He doesn’t want to see more people, risk stepping out into the world and getting snatched up again.  
  
“Why are you doing this?” he asks, the question blurted out almost without him thinking. “Why…?”  
  
He struggles to ask more, struggles to gather his thoughts and demand answers. He digs his nails into his knee through the cloth of the sweatpants, drifts his gaze over to the sleepy eyed man.  
  
“Because I owe some favors,” the man answers simply. He reaches over, grabs some tube of ointment and begins smearing it on Oikawa’s back. “I’m just clearing some of my debt.”  
  
It’s so impersonal, the words. But somehow it’s almost a relief, in a way.  
  
“I can’t…” Suga licks his lips, tries again. “I can’t pay you or anything.”  
  
“Like I said, I’m clearing some of my debt,” Issei repeats, looking almost a little annoyed. “You don’t have to worry about paying __me_ _ back.”  
  
Suga ducks his head, winces at the implication of the words. Yeah, he doesn’t need to be reminded that he owes them, that now he and Oikawa have a debt to cleared.  
  
“What do they want from us?” he asks, whispering the question out to try to hide his desperation, anxiety.  
  
“Don’t know,” the man answers boredly. “Don’t care.”  
  
Suga feels Issei’s gaze fall on him and lifts his head, tries not to push back against the pillows when he sees something cold in the man’s eyes.  
  
“You know how lucky you are right?” Issei asks, words coming out in a drawl, all soft and dangerous. “If anyone else had stumbled across you two they would have put a bullet in your head, left you to rot. Or maybe they would have dragged you away so __they_ _ could fuck and abuse your pretty little self. Or maybe you would have been sold, all your valuable bits auctioned off to the highest bidders. You’re lucky to have been stumbled upon by someone that gets off on taking care of pretty, broken things.”  
  
_Pretty, broken things.  
  
_ Suga’s gaze snaps to Oikawa, to those muddied chocolate brown eyes and then back to Issei, panic rising in leaps and bounds.  
  
What’s going to happen when they aren’t broken anymore?  
  
“I would have left you to rot,” the doctor continues, snapping Suga from his screaming thoughts. “His partner would have too, if he had been alone. So count your blessings and start being grateful. I don’t know what he wants with you. I don’t know what he’s planning to do with you. I don’t care. But you better realize things could be so much worse for you and Oikawa-san over here. Have you even thanked either of them?”  
  
Suga flinches, eyes sliding away in guilt.  
  
“Of course not,” Issei scoffs. “You should have thrown yourself to the ground, kissed their goddamn feet for saving your ass. Get it together, _Sugawara_ _,_ and start showing some thanks.”  
  
Anger whips through Suga at the words. Anger, fear, guilt. He opens his mouth to snap something, make a protest, hiss out a rebuttal. But the doctor cuts him off before he can say anything with a touch to Oikawa’s shoulder, a bored little order given out.  
  
“Pants off.”  
  
Oikawa’s hand clenches Suga’s tight and there’s a scared, quiet whimper. Oikawa trembles and Suga bites his lip at the fear spiked across the brunette’s face, the confusion and vulnerability.  
  
“It’s okay, Tooru,” Suga coaxes gently, hiding the lump in his throat as best as he can. “He just wants to make sure you’re alright.”  
  
There’s a whine, something that comes out high from the brunette’s throat. Oikawa sways, slumps over so his forehead rests against Suga’s shoulder. Suga hesitates, brushes his lips to Oikawa’s ear and gently runs a hand down the man’s back, to the hem of the sweatpants.  
  
“It’ll be okay, Tooru,” he whispers, slipping his fingers underneath the sweatpants. He runs them to the sides of Oikawa’s hips, tries rubbing small, firm little circles against them. “I got you. I’m here.”  
  
Another whine, wordless and painful to hear. Oikawa clings to him, nods and slurs out a sleepy call of Suga’s given name. Suga slowly works the sweatpants from him, holds onto Oikawa when the doctor starts examining the bruises on Oikawa’s calves, the faded burn marks on his thighs. Suga closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see, drops his face into messy chocolate brown hair and inhales the scent of something vaguely metallic, something vaguely minty.  
  
There are mutters from the doctor but Suga ignores them, just tries to focus on breathing evenly and clearing his mind.  
  
It doesn’t work, of course. Not when Oikawa is whimpering against him, flinching and digging his fingers into his shoulder, his back.  
  
Suga takes a deep breath, tries to divert his thoughts to taking care of Oikawa instead.  
  
He needs to eat. Suga is hungry and the toast and bacon is cold now but Oikawa can still eat it when Issei is done. He needs it more than Suga does. Suga can’t remember the last time Oikawa had ate but, really, things are so fuzzy and it’s getting harder to think with the sharp little pains jabbing into his brain.  
  
He inhales sharply, squeezes his eyes shut so tight colors spark up behind the lids.  
  
Hurts. It hurts.  
  
The doctor gives a little sigh, another mutter and Suga tries focusing on him for a moment, his curly hair and glasses and the frown on his face. How does he know Green Eyes? Why does he need to clear a debt with him? They’re friendly with each other, he thinks. So why…  
  
His thoughts trail off as his stomach growls, as Oikawa buries his face deeper into the crook of his neck. It’s awkward, the way Oikawa is sprawled out, face buried in Suga’s neck and legs stretched out behind him. The doctor gives the order for Oikawa to flip over and Suga has to coax Oikawa to turn, rest against Suga’s chest. There’s a whine of protest but the brunette quiets down when Suga wraps his arms around his chest, rests his forehead on Oikawa’s shoulder.  
  
He can’t look at him. Can’t see all the marks and the scars and the cold eyes of the doctor. He doesn’t want to see it, doesn’t want to be reminded of all that had happened, of how his own body is just as marred.  
  
Suga inhales shakily, squeezes Oikawa tight and mutters an apology when there’s a noise of protest.  
  
There are a few more minutes of silence, a few more minutes of pretending that they aren’t there being looked over and looked down on. Suga imagines for a moment that they’re back in his little, safe dorm room, imagines that they’re curled up watching one of those silly scifi movies Oikawa loves so much.  
  
He almost sniffles but remembers the presence of the doctor, schools himself to silence.  
  
He wants to be back in his dorm. He wants to just be laying in his tiny bed with Oikawa. He wants his biggest problem to be dealing with trying to be okay with hiding their relationship, pretending he doesn’t mind seeing the photos of the brunette with that pretty little girl his parents want him to marry.  
  
He squeezes his eyes shut before tears can slip out and presses his lips together tight.  
  
He needs to keep it together. He __has_ _ to keep it together. Later he can break down. Later when he’s alone and no one can see, he can crumble.  
  
“Okay,” Issei says, snapping Suga from his thoughts, “looks like things are fine. I’m going to bandage him up again and then it’s your turn.”  
  
“Can he eat after?” Suga asks, voice coming out smaller than he wants. “I...the man left food and he needs to eat.”  
  
“Yeah, he can eat,” Issei tells him. Something amused in his voice makes Suga lift his head from Oikawa’s shoulder, frown and peer over at him. “You don’t know their names, do you?”  
  
Suga shakes his head and the man snorts, grins a little. He makes a little beckoning motion and holds up a roll of gauze. Suga whispers quickly into Oikawa’s ear, prods him into sitting up and letting Issei wrap up his wounds again.  
  
“What are you calling them?” Issei asks, casually slipping gauze around Oikawa’s forearm.  
  
Suga feels his cheeks redden and he looks away in some sort of odd embarrassment, hugs himself.  
  
“Green Eyes,” he mutters. “Green Eyes and just...the blonde.”  
  
There’s another snort of amusement, the man’s grin flicking into a little smirk.  
  
“Not the nicknames I would have chose,” the doctor says conversationally. “But I guess they work.”  
  
Suga hesitates, bites his bottom lip and looks over at the curly haired man, watches as his fingers expertly bandages Oikawa up.  
  
“What...what are their names?” Suga asks, not holding out a lot of expectation of getting an actual answer.  
  
“They’ll tell you if they want you to know,” Issei tells him. The man raises his gaze to Suga, cocks a brow. “Isn’t it better if you don’t know? More reason to just slit your throat if you know the names of the big, bad killers.”  
  
Suga flinches, pushes back against the pillows even though he tries not to.  
  
“Is that what they are?” he whispers. “Killers?”  
  
“Technically,” Issei answers, smirk turning a bit cruel. “It’s their business if they want you to know what they do, though.”  
  
Suga swallows back more questions, draws his legs back up to his chest and stares at the covers.  
  
Killers.  
  
That can cover different things. He kind of doubts that they’re just some sort of rogues that had wandered in to bash heads in for fun. Mercenaries maybe? Hitmen? What’s the difference?  
  
He tries not to rock back and forth on the bed, tries to focus on figuring out what the two are instead.  
  
He can’t just ask, can he? Does he really want to know? He knows that they aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty but does he really, truly want further clarification on their job descriptions?  
  
A petulant whine from Oikawa jerks his mind from puzzling things over and Suga raises his eyes to see the brunette’s lips pushing into a tired pout. Issei rolls his eyes and nods to Suga, pats Oikawa on the shoulder.  
  
“Your turn,” he says.  
  
Suga bites his lip, nods. He shuffles Oikawa back into his sweatpants first, shoves the plate of food into his lap after. Oikawa blinks down at the plate with sleepy eyes, picks up a strip of cold bacon and shoves it into his mouth with a little moan.  
  
Suga watches him until he’s satisfied that the brunette is distracted and then shifts over to the side of the bed, shifts closer to the doctor.  
  
“Do I have to get the shot?” Suga asks, staring down at his hands and the little cuts nicked along his fingers.  
  
“Do you want to be in pain?” the doctor retorts.  
  
Suga bites his lip again and there’s a sigh, the springs in the mattress squeaking lightly when the doctor shifts on the bed.  
  
“Look,” the man says, his voice softer than it’s been the entire time. “I get it. You were pricked with lots of needles, injected with junk against your will. You don’t want to be out of it because you don’t trust any of us. But do you really think you’ll be able to take care of him if you’re trying not pass out from all the pain?”  
  
Suga opens his mouth, closes it and then scowls.  
  
Why does the fucker have to have a point?  
  
“It’s not going to knock you or anything,” the man continues. “Just keep you sort of fuzzy, mask the pain. He’ll probably pass out just because his head is all fucked up but you’ll be fine. Just tired, floaty.”  
  
Suga presses his lips together, swallows and looks over at the man with suspicion.  
  
“It won’t make me pass out?” Suga asks.  
  
Issei rolls his eyes, but nods. “You won’t pass out.”  
  
Suga wordlessly takes the sweater off, holds out his arm and looks away. He winces when the needle pierces his skin, bites his tongue when it slides out.  
  
“It’ll take a little bit to kick in,” the doctor tells him. “But it’ll work.”  
  
Suga just nods, refuses to look at him or speak. The doctor wordlessly begins to peek under his bandages and wraps. There are some little clicks of his tongue, some annoyed sighs. Suga just keeps quiet, choosing to shift his gaze over to Oikawa, watch as his chest rose and fell steadily. The plate is left in his lap, food mostly gone. He had fallen asleep and there are crumbs on his face.  
  
Suga reaches out and brushes them off, swallows when Oikawa flinches in his sleep.  
  
“Pants off.”  
  
The order makes Suga’s skin crawl but he obeys, slipping them off and squeezing his eyes shut. He wants to scream when the doctor touches his legs, runs gloved fingers over his calves.  
  
He wants to scream and he wants to kick him and he wants to run and hide in the closet, wrap himself up in clothes so not an inch of skin is showing and stay where no one can see him, no one can look at him.  
  
The urge to puke flares up and he has to swallow down quick gulps of air, dig his nails into his skin so he doesn’t lean over and hurl all over the carpet.  
  
It feels like years before the doctor pulls away, tells Suga he can get dressed again.  
  
Suga hurriedly pulls on the borrowed clothes, presses the sleeve of the sweater to his lips and tries not to gag over the feeling of phantom hands on his body. The doctor says something but Suga can’t make the words out. He just pulls his legs tight to his chest, presses his forehead to his knees.  
  
He hears a sigh and then footsteps, the sound of a door opening and closing.  
  
There’s silence then, nothing but the soft sound of Oikawa’s breathing and his own stuttered gasps for air and the whir of an air conditioner. He looks up from his knees, tries to breathe deep and calm down.  
  
A clock on the wall says it’s getting later in the day, the sky outside the glass wall says it was almost dusk.  
  
Suga shakes and swallows, digs his nails into his arms and slowly talks himself into calming down.  
  
Thirty minutes tick by and then the door opens, Green Eyes and the blonde walking in.  
  
Green Eyes raises a brow, crosses his arms as he looks over at them.  
  
“Figured you would be asleep,” he comments.  
  
Suga just shakes his head, hugs his knees tighter.  
  
“We have questions,” Green Eyes says.  
  
Suga keeps quiet, not really able to open his mouth. He’s too tired to talk, too close to tears to say anything.  
  
Green Eyes shares a look with the blonde and sighs.  
  
“Fine,” the man says. “Later, though, you’re going to talk to us.”  
  
Suga gives a tight, tiny nod to show his understanding and closes his eyes in an effort to keep tears from spilling over. There’s the sound of footsteps and he blurts out a quiet “wait.”  
  
“What?”  
  
It’s the blonde this time, Suga think. He can’t be sure with his eyes shut, though.  
  
He swallows and licks his lips before whispering out a too broken, “Thank you.”  
  
There’s silence and then a grumbled “no problem.” More footsteps, the sound of the door closing and then he’s alone again, alone with a passed out Oikawa and all his thoughts.  
  
Suga sniffles, opens his eyes and peers at the brunette, looks at him the best he can through his blurry vision. Oikawa curls up tighter, murmurs out a “Koushi.”  
  
A whimper slips from Suga and then the tears fall, one after another as he bites into his arm to muffle the sobs.

* * *

He must have fallen asleep at some point. Suga finds himself creaking his eyes open, blearily looking at a still resting Oikawa and then out at a darkened night sky.  
  
He groans and sits up, rubs at his eyes and flinches at how raw they feel, how it hurts brushing his knuckles against the delicate skin around it. His whole face feels stiff from the tears he had shed earlier and he rubs at his cheeks angrily, hating himself for breaking down next to Oikawa. Yes, the brunette had been asleep but it had been so _irresponsible_ _._ What if he had woken up? What if Suga had upset him?  
  
He pushes the thoughts away and shakes his head, huffs when his stomach growls. He tries standing up from the bed and sways, blinking away dizziness. There’s the sound of sheets rustling and then a sleepy little “Koushi” mumbled out.  
  
Suga composes his face and turns to Oikawa, smiles the best he can. The brunette blinks up at him and yawns, reaching a hand out for him.  
  
“Don’t...don’t leave me.”  
  
Suga flinches at the words, sits back down on the bed immediately and pets over Oikawa, brushes his knuckles against his cheek.  
  
“I won’t leave you,” Suga promises. He bites his lip when his stomach growls again, tries not to groan. “You think you can come with me? I need to talk to them.”  
  
There’s a whine but Oikawa pushes himself up from the bed, blinks at Suga and rubs at his eyes. Suga frowns at the brunette’s exposed chest, all the bandages and bruises.  
  
“Wait just one second,” Suga tells him.  
  
There’s a nod and Suga wanders over to the laundry basket still sitting on the floor. He pokes around until he finds a sweater that he thinks will fit Oikawa and then goes back to the bed, urges the brunette to lift his arms and pulls it down over him.  
  
Oikawa seems pleased with the new piece of clothing. There’s a little cooing noise and Suga watches as he rubs his face against the soft wool of one of the sleeves, smiles sleepily.  
  
“You ready, Tooru?” Suga asks.  
  
The brunette nods and shuffles out of the bed, sways on his feet and grabs for Suga’s hand. Suga lets him link their fingers together and gives his hand a squeeze, takes a deep breath before leading him from the room.  
  
There’s the noise of a television, some sort of soothing voice floating down the hall. Are they watching a documentary?  
  
Suga hesitates in the hallway for a moment, squirming in place and fluttering between hunger and nervousness.  
  
It seems dulled, though, his fear. Is it the medicine the doctor had given him? The sleep? Letting out his tears?  
  
A little pang shoots through his chest and Suga shakes his head, forces his feet forward. Oikawa trails a step or two after him, little sleepy noises sounding.  
  
They __are_ _ watching a documentary, apparently. Suga gets to catch a flash of someone lecturing on the importance of bees before his eyes latch onto a spread of Styrofoam containers.  
  
_Food _._  
  
_ He nearly whimpers but squeezes Oikawa’s hand instead, takes a few more steps forward. Two sets of eyes- one green, one golden- flick over to them and Suga freezes in place, fright creeping through him a bit more potently.  
  
“I…” He swallows, squeezes Oikawa’s hand again. “Um...talking.”  
  
Fuck he sounds like an _idiot _._  
  
_ But words are hard and they’re scary and he’s so _hungry _._  
  
_ Green Eye raises a brow, looks them over and then at the food on the low coffee table.  
  
“Sit,” he says. “Grab some food if you want.”  
  
It’s hard not to rush over, grab the closest thing and shove it in his mouth. He takes a deep breath instead, nods and lets pride keep his self-control in check.  
  
Suga tugs Oikawa over to the free couch, hesitates and then reaches over for a little carton of noodles. Green Eyes nods at him when he pauses and Suga snatches it up and a set of shitty, cheap, wooden chopsticks.  
  
Oikawa just slumps against him, seemingly uninterested in food. Suga sits him down on the couch and crosses his legs, lets Oikawa curl up into his side and rest his head on his shoulder. His hands shake when he snaps apart the chopsticks but he manages to keep himself under control, manages to keep from humiliating himself. He dips the chopsticks into the noodles, lifts them and takes a quick bite, nearly moans at the taste. They’re greasy and slightly cold but __fuck_ _ they’re so, so _good _._  
  
_ He almost wants to cry while he eats them.  
  
He takes another bite instead and then another and another before peeking his gaze up at Green Eyes and the blonde, flushes in light embarrassment when he notices the golden eyes staring at him.  
  
Suga takes a little shaky breath and swallows down another bite of noodles before reluctantly setting the chopsticks down and looking at them.  
  
“So,” he asks, holding his head high, “what do you want to know?”  
  
Green Eyes sighs, grabs a remote and turns down the television. He crosses his arms over his chest and frowns a little over at Suga. The blonde just stays still, drinking a beer and watching Suga and Oikawa idly. Suga struggles to not stare at his exposed arms, at the tattoo that is creeping out from beneath his undershirt.  
  
“Well,” Green Eyes says, “I guess your relationship with Oikawa, for starters. You guys disappeared the same night. Is there a reason for that?”  
  
Suga stiffens at the words, dips his eyes down to the noodles and lifts up another bite as he considers what to tell him. Why did he have to ask __that_ _ first?  
  
He feels too tired to get worked up over it, too hungry to get snippy and snap back that it isn’t any of their business. Besides, the more he cooperates, the better they might be treated...right?  
  
Suga hesitates, feels Oikawa nuzzle against his shoulder and sighs. He drops the chopsticks again and looks up at the two, holds his head high.  
  
“We’re dating,” he tells them. He feels his shoulders hunch a bit, hears Oikawa whine at the movement and bites his lip. “Or, we were. I...I don’t know now…”  
  
He takes a deep breath, gathers himself again. “We were dating before...before _it_ happened.”  
  
Green Eyes blinks, tilts his head to the side just a bit and nods thoughtfully. There isn’t any visible reaction from the blonde- he just takes another sip of the beer and sits quietly.  
  
“Were you two taken at the same time?” Green Eyes asks. Suga flinches but nods. “How? Do you know why?”  
  
Bitterness floods through Suga and he sits the noodles on the coffee table so he won’t throw them in anger. He tries to swallow his frustration, tries to keep his fury from rising up but it’s s _o_ _hard_ _._ It’s all just so _unfair _._  
  
_ “His parents,” Suga manages to grind out quietly. Oikawa shifts, lays across Suga’s lap now that it’s free and Suga strokes over his hair in an effort to keep himself calm. “His parents weren’t very happy to find out that we were together. They had a debt with the syndicate and threw their son at them in an effort to clear it. I was with him when they came to take him and got plucked up as a _bonus _.”_  
  
_ Green Eyes furrows his brow, something thunderous seeming to cross over his face. The blonde glances over at the man and then frowns, cocks his head and eyes Oikawa. Suga chooses to ignore the look, chooses to let it go with little fuss in favor of soothing the brunette when he lets out a quiet, upset noise.  
  
“So. He was right,” Green Eyes mutters. Suga raises a brow but Green Eyes shakes his head, frowns deeper. “His parents really did that?”  
  
“Yes,” Suga snaps. He bites his lip in frustration when Oikawa flinches, curls up tighter. Suga takes a deep breath and tries to reign in his temper a bit more. “They just...they just threw him away.”  
  
They threw him away and it’s Suga’s fault. If he hadn’t of insisted they go to that bar, if he hadn’t of made Oikawa go then his parents might have never found out, might have never screamed that Oikawa was a disappointment, might have never thrown him away.  
  
Suga squeezes his eyes shut, grits his teeth angrily.  
  
This is all his fault.  
  
“Who did they give him to?”  
  
Suga snaps his eyes back open, frowns over at the blonde. The man just looks back at him, waits with the smallest frown on his face.  
  
“...Kuma,” Suga tells him, trying not to flinch.  
  
The blonde blinks and trades a little look with Green Eyes. The two seem to have a conversation without words, Green Eyes raising a brow and the blonde scowling.  
  
“Is…” Suga hesitates when their eyes flick over to them, almost flinches. “Is...is he still alive?”  
  
There isn’t an answer for a moment, the two seeming to look almost uneasy. But then Green Eyes nods and Suga feels his stomach drop, feels fear dig cold fingers into him.  
  
“Are you going to make us go back?” Suga croaks out, feeling tears sting at his eyes. He tries to swallow the fear, tries to keep himself together but he’s so _scared_ _._ “Are you going to give us back to him?”  
  
“No,” Green Eyes answers immediately. He looks almost disgusted that Suga had even asked. “No, of course not.”  
  
There’s a small feeling of relief. It manages to last only for a second before anxiety stomps it down, crushes it under its weight.  
  
“What are you going to do with us?” he whispers, burying his fingers in Oikawa’s hair so they can’t see them shake.  
  
A moment of silence. Suga can almost swear that something frustrated is in both sets of eyes, something annoyed and something unsure.  
  
“...I don’t know,” Green Eyes tells him after a moment. “I’ll figure it out.”  
  
Suga bites his lip, drops his gaze to a half-asleep Oikawa. He pets over him, tries to press back the urge to cry again. He wishes he had enough energy to be angry, to be upset. It’s easier to hide his fear underneath snaps and glares. He doesn’t want to show them how scared he is.  
  
There’s a sigh and Suga looks up to watch Green Eyes run his hand through his hair.  
  
“Eat up and then go back to bed,” the man orders. Suga watches as he pats the blonde on the knee, stands up. “I might have more questions tomorrow but, for now…”  
  
Green Eyes makes a vague waving motion to the food and then begins to walk away. The blonde stands up and follows after him, not sparing them another glance.  
  
Suga sits there for a moment, mind absently taking in the nearly muted voice of the narrator from the documentary. He blinks, runs his fingers through Oikawa’s hair and tries very, very hard not to cry again. A whine from the brunette helps him hold it together and he forces a smile, pats Oikawa’s cheek gently.  
  
“Come on, Tooru,” Suga says quietly. “Let’s eat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suga is my favorite to write for this, just so y'all know. His chapters are probably going to be the longest just because...well. Protective Suga is a Good.
> 
> Come say hi and hello on [my tumblr](https://moramew.tumblr.com/)~


	3. Chapter 3

The call comes in at around half past noon. Iwaizumi and Kyoutani are in the kitchen talking about a how they need to put in an order for new weapons while picking over lunch when Iwaizumi’s phone starts ringing. The loud, generic gong ringtone going off so suddenly surprises them, makes them look at each other and blink.  
  
“The fuck does _he_ want?” Kyoutani asks, frowning a bit.  
  
Iwaizumi shrugs, picks up the phone and answers it with a carefully respectful tone. Kyoutani frowns a little deeper, props his head up with his fist while he watches Iwaizumi’s brows raise high and then drop, a vaguely annoyed look quickly spreading on his face. Kyoutani looks at him when he hangs up, waiting for an explanation.  
  
“Irihata has a job for me,” Iwaizumi tells him with a sigh. “He’s cashing in a favor I owe him.”  
  
“Just you?” Kyoutani asks.  
  
“Just me,” Iwaizumi confirms with an annoyed little look. “Looks like there’s a little rat that he needs taken care of. Someone’s been selling info to fucking Johzenji.”  
  
Kyoutani snorts. “Fucking idiot.”  
  
“Right,” Iwaizumi agrees. He sighs, runs a hand through his hair and frowns again. “You going to be good here?”  
  
“Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?” Kyoutani asks.  
  
“Our guests?” Iwaizumi asks in return, shrugging. “I mean, I don’t doubt that you’ll be able to handle them, but…”  
  
“Pretty sure I can handle them,” Kyoutani says with a frown. “They haven’t even moved all day.”  
  
“Sugawara stabbed you yesterday,” Iwaizumi reminds him dryly.  
  
Kyoutani scowls, his fingers running over where the tiny little penknife had dug into his leg. He still doesn’t understand why he’s the one getting stabbed, why he’s the one getting bitten. He’d been the one to carry the man out from that shit hole; shouldn’t he be free from getting lashed out at?  
  
“I can handle them,” Kyoutani tells him, scowl deepening. “What if Aces calls while you’re cashing in the favor and I’m stuck playing babysitter?”  
  
Iwaizumi snorts and grins a little. “Then I’ll have you go and take care of things.”  
  
“You trust them here alone?” Kyoutani asks, raising a brow.  
  
Something like hesitation passes across Iwaizumi’s face and the man frowns a little, sighs.  
  
“I trust Sugawara isn’t going to do anything that will upset Oikawa. I trust that they have nowhere to go and that Sugawara would be too scared to flee with Oikawa while he’s all...delicate,” Iwaizumi says. “It’ll be fine...I think.”  
  
Kyoutani just sighs through his nose and drums his fingers against the counter. He has a little less faith in the two than his partner does.  
  
“You know what you’re going to do with them yet?” he asks.  
  
“I...don’t know,” Iwaizumi tells him.  
  
Kyoutani raises a brow but decides not to push it. He’s already pretty sure of how it’s going to play out, is trying to prepare himself to get used to sharing his living space with two other people. Iwaizumi says he doesn’t know what he’s going to do with them but Kyoutani already knows his fucking bleeding heart is going to talk him into playing caretaker, already knows Iwaizumi is weak to pretty faces and broken things.  
  
What is it that Hanamaki likes to say?  
  
_“Hajime gets a hard-on for taking care of people.”  
  
_ He hides a snort of amusement and just watches Iwaizumi instead, runs his eyes over ripped arms and a small scowl.  
  
“I need to get ready,” Iwaizumi says, voice reluctant. He flashes his gaze up to Kyoutani, studies him with half-lidded green eyes. “I’m going to trust my pup to take care of things while I’m gone. You’ll make sure they behave, right?”  
  
Kyoutani feels his nostrils flare at the words and he nods, sits up straighter and almost let out a little growl despite trying to not let the pet name get to him.  
  
“Yeah,” he tells him, holding his head up. “I’ll keep them in line.”  
  
Iwaizumi smiles, the expression just verging on a smirk.  
  
“Good,” he says softly, reaching out and running a finger along Kyoutani’s throat. “It’d be a shame if I came back to find everything in disarray. I don’t want to punish my pup.”  
  
Kyoutani takes a little breath, opens his mouth to reassure Iwaizumi that he’ll make sure that their little guests behave, that he’ll keep an eye on them, that he’ll keep them out of trouble.  
  
Of course, though, a voice cuts through the kitchen before he can say anything.  
  
“You’re leaving?”  
  
Kyoutani flicks his eyes over to the doorway and frowns in annoyance. Sugawara is staring at him dully, eyes flat and exhausted. His hair is a mess, tousled up and tangled in waves of silver. He looks a little better, though, compared to the night before. There’s more color to his face, a bit more life. Beside him Oikawa stands, head tilted to the side and eyes still muddy, his expression a bit lost. Kyoutani watches as his eyes fall on Iwaizumi, watches as he blinks and clings to Sugawara’s hand a bit tighter.  
  
“I have a job,” Iwaizumi tells the duo, a small frown on his face when Kyoutani glances over at him. “He’s in charge. Don’t make trouble.”  
  
Kyoutani moves his gaze back to Sugawara, watches as the man blinks, scoffs a bit.  
  
Impertinent little shit.  
  
“We’re not going to cause trouble,” Sugawara says, almost sounding like he’s holding back from snapping at Iwaizumi.  
  
Kyoutani frowns at him, leans back on the bar stool and crosses his arms. Oikawa’s expression flutters between a pout and confusion and he tugs on the sleeve of Sugawara’s- Iwaizumi’s- sweater with his free hand. Sugawara slides his eyes over to Oikawa and Kyoutani watches him soften, smile at the man as he gently strokes over Oikawa’s hand.  
  
“We’re not going to cause trouble,” Sugawara repeats, words coming out more even tempered. He flicks his gaze back to Iwaizumi again and frowns a little. “What...what do you do? What does a job mean?”  
  
“None of your business,” Iwaizumi shoots back automatically.  
  
Sugawara’s face darkens immediately, frustration sparking through copper eyes and bringing them to life. He opens his mouth to say something but there’s a little whiny noise from Oikawa that cuts him off. Kyoutani watches as Sugawara closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. The man opens his eyes again, composes his face to hold a blank, neutral expression.  
  
“Fine,” Sugawara says quietly. “Oikawa was thirsty. We came to ask if we can have something to drink…” His lips twitch and Kyoutani thinks he might be trying to not grit his teeth. “ _Please_ .”  
  
“Get whatever you want from the fridge,” Iwaizumi tells him, words coming out with a slight grumble. “Grab some food too. You probably need it.”  
  
Sugawara’s eyes narrow, suspicion clear in them. He seems to hesitate in the doorway before tugging Oikawa forward, their hands firmly held. Kyoutani wonders if it’s for Oikawa’s benefit or Sugawara’s. Maybe it’s for them both.  
  
Sugawara marches to the fridge with his head held high, his back straightened and stiff. While he stares into the fridge Oikawa looks around, tilting his head and blinking at Iwaizumi. Kyoutani watches Iwaizumi raise a brow, watches Oikawa smile nervously and duck his head.  
  
Sugawara grabs two bottles of water, a bag of grapes and some of the leftover cake from when they had gone and visited Watari and Yahaba a few days ago. He hands over the bag of grapes and one of the bottles of water to Oikawa and then looks at Iwaizumi, jaw tight.  
  
“Utensils,” he grinds out, looking as if he’d rather stab himself in the gut than talk to Iwaizumi. “ _Please_ .”  
  
Iwaizumi wordlessly hands over two forks, eyes Sugawara with a frown. Sugawara ignores the look, manages to give a quiet “thank you” without looking as if it’s _too_ unbearable. Sugawara tightens his hold on Oikawa’s hand and then they walk out of the kitchen, leaving Iwaizumi and Kyoutani to frown at each other.  
  
“Bet they had a hell of time trying to break that one,” Iwaizumi mutters with a sigh, running a hand down his face. He still hasn’t shaved and Kyoutani wonders how long he can talk Iwaizumi into leaving it like that. “Whatever. I have to get ready. Are you sure you can handle them?”  
  
Kyoutani scoffs, runs his hand over his thigh again and frowns at the memory of those scared copper eyes and how _animalistic_ Sugawara had looked.  
  
“Yeah, I got them,” he tells Iwaizumi.  
  
Iwaizumi hesitates, nods and then leaves. Kyoutani takes the time to clean up the kitchen, shove the leftovers from lunch into the fridge and frown over Sugawara’s choice in food.  
  
It isn’t his business what they eat. He doesn’t care. But he knows Iwaizumi cares, knows that his partner is already so fucked over it all. He knows that Iwaizumi will try to figure out their favorite foods, will try to coax them to eat just like he had done with him.  
  
Again, Hanamaki’s voice sounds through his head.  
  
_“Hajime gets a hard-on for taking care of people.”  
  
_ Kyoutani snorts as he dries off a mug, thinks about how ridiculous his partner is. Iwaizumi can snap someone’s neck without blinking an eye and then turn right back around and trip over himself trying to piece a stranger back together. It’s ridiculous. Iwaizumi is ridiculous.  
  
Ridiculous and too soft for this shit. How did he ever even get into this line of work with that fucking bleeding heart of his?  
  
Kyoutani sighs, puts away the rest of the dishes and wanders to the living room. He flops down on the couch and closes his eyes, tries not to think too hard about the memory of Iwaizumi bringing him home and taking care of him. Tries not to think about all the misplaced rage and anxiety. Fuck, Iwaizumi had been so patient dealing with him. If some messed up kid had bit _him_ , had tried to punch him in the face for touching him, trying to bandage him up, he would have have left them to rot on the street.  
  
It’s hard, actually, trying to pick out memories from that time. Everything is kind of blurred together and weird and Kyoutani isn’t sure if he wants to remember it or if he’s glad his mind keeps it hazy. He can remember some things; punching Matsukawa in the face when Iwaizumi drug him to the clinic to get checked out, Iwaizumi pinning him to the ground in the middle of a panic attack and forcing him to stay still until he calmed down. He can remember breaking things, waking up yelling because he had dreamed about his sister.  
  
Kyoutani opens his eyes and shakes his head, forces those thoughts way. He doesn’t want to remember that. Iwaizumi is his family now.  
  
He runs a hand over his face, thinks about what it would take for Sugawara to calm down instead, thinks about what it would take for Oikawa to snap out of his fog.  
  
It’s tricky, really, trying to take care of people. He isn’t cut out for it. Iwaizumi is but Kyoutani is too rough, isn’t able to be soft or emphatic. He doesn’t particularly care about it, about the two coming back to themselves. Any care about their outcome is only an extension of wanting Iwaizumi to be happy. Those two being safe and sane will make his partner happy so he’ll try, for Iwaizumi. Try to help in his own way….even if he isn’t sure of how he can actually help.  
  
Sugawara will have to be calmed down first, he thinks. Oikawa isn’t that much of a problem, really. At least not yet. He’s fine. Iwaizumi will take care of him and Kyoutani can maybe get Sugawara to settle down.  
  
Maybe.  
  
He can understand the misplaced anger, the distrust and frustration. He remembers his own vividly. It’s better, he thinks, that Sugawara can at least have that instead of fall blank and dull and just give up on things.  
  
He wonders idly what the man would be like if he didn’t have Oikawa to worry over, to use as something grounding to keep him together. Would he fall to pieces?  
  
Kyoutani sighs and runs his hand down his face, yawns.  
  
Whatever. Not his problem.  
  
Iwaizumi wanders into the living room after a while, leans over the back of the couch and crooks a finger, beckons Kyoutani to sit up.  
  
“I’ll be back soon,” Iwaizumi tells him with a sigh. “Keep an eye on them. Make sure they don’t get in trouble.”  
  
“Just get this over with,” Kyoutani says.  
  
Iwaizumi scoffs and flicks Kyoutani on the head. “I’ll be home before you know it. Make sure they eat.”  
  
Kyoutani rolls his eyes but nods, watches as Iwaizumi turns away and walks out of the penthouse.  
  
As always, it’s a bit too quiet when Iwaizumi isn’t around.  
  
Kyoutani flicks on the tv and scowls when old anxiety tries to flare up. It’s been a long time since it’s just been Iwaizumi going out on a job. It’s been a long time since he’s been left alone in their penthouse.  
  
Though, he isn’t really alone.  
  
He flicks his eyes toward the hallway, the firmly shut bedroom door. What are they doing in there?  
  
He wonders if Sugawara thinks that they aren’t allowed to be outside of the room unless necessary. Maybe he just feels safer in there, all holed up with his maybe-boyfriend and knowing that they’re alone.  
  
He sighs, scratches his neck and diverts his attention to the tv.  
  
Whatever. Not his problem.

* * *

They still haven’t come out by the time the clock ticks past five o’clock.  
  
He wants to ignore it, brush it off as them sleeping or something so he can leave them alone.  
  
But his stomach is starting to growl at him so they’re probably starting to get hungry, too. Iwaizumi had told him to make sure they ate so he has to at least try to get them out of the bedroom, get them to eat _something_.  
  
Before Kyoutani can push himself from the couch and try to drag them out, there’s the quiet sound of a door opening and closing. He raises a brow, turns his head to the hallway and eyes Sugawara standing in the entrance of it. He looks dull again, flat and drained of life.  
  
“Oikawa needs to eat once he wakes up,” the man says without preamble, voice without inflection. “Can I make him something?”  
  
Sugawara needs to eat something, too. Is he just going to keep putting the brunette’s needs before his own? Is taking care of Oikawa his way from keeping from breaking down?  
  
Kyoutani just blinks at the man, nods and stands up.  
  
“I was going to make dinner,” Kyoutani tells him. “I’ll make some for you, too.”  
  
Sugawara’s lips pull into a frown. Kyoutani watches as his hands clutch at the hem of Iwaizumi’s sweater, fingers curling into the cloth.  
  
“I can do it,” Sugawara says after half a moment of quiet, a little bit more life in his voice now.  
  
Kyoutani scratches the back of his neck, tries not to let himself look too annoyed at the refusal. He’s trying to play nice, like Iwaizumi would want him to. What more does Sugawara want?  
  
“It’s fine,” Kyoutani says. “I’ll make you something.”  
  
“I don’t trust you,” Sugawara tells him flatly, without hesitation. “I don’t trust you to feed us.”  
  
“And I don’t trust you alone in the kitchen with more knives,” Kyoutani snaps at him.  
  
Something like guilt almost seems to flash over Sugawara’s face. It’s gone in a split second, though, his jaw tightening, neck moving as the man swallows.  
  
“I’m not going to do anything,” Sugawara grinds out through gritted teeth. “I just want to feed him.”  
  
“Then you can feed him whatever I make,” Kyoutani says, voice gruff with impatience that he doesn’t bother to hide.  
  
Sugawara’s lips pinch together tightly and Kyoutani thinks he might get snapped at again, get his head bitten off. But then the man just takes a deep breath, folds his arms across his too thin chest.  
  
“Fine,” Sugawara says, voice cold and body tense. “I’m watching you make it.”  
  
Kyoutani holds back a sigh and nods, begins walking to the kitchen.  
  
Had he been like this when Iwaizumi picked him up off the street?  
  
Sugawara sits down at the kitchen island when they enter the room, keeps his eyes locked on Kyoutani as he walks over to the cupboards and looks inside. It’s almost a little unnerving how the man stares him down.  
  
Almost. It’s more irritating than anything else.  
  
“You got any allergies?” he asks.  
  
“No,” Sugawara tells him, voice blunt, fingers tapping against the counter in a slow, steady beat.  
  
He’s probably having a problem with silence, Kyoutani thinks as he scans the cupboards and tries to figure out what to make. Or maybe it’s a nervous tic. Maybe it’s something to help him keep anxious energy under control. Who the fuck knows why he’s doing it? Kyoutani just wants him to stop; it’s _annoying_.  
  
When he turns to look in the fridge for more inspiration for a meal, the tapping stops for just a moment before continuing on again.  
  
“What are you going to make?” Sugawara asks.  
  
Fuck if he knows. Kyoutani frowns and eyes the meat they have thawed out. They have some pork chops ready so maybe…  
  
“Tonteki,” he tells Sugawara, pulling the meat out and glancing over at the man. Sugawara’s face stays blank, composed. “It won’t take long. You going to wake Oikawa up?”  
  
“After it’s done,” Sugawara mutters, eyes not leaving Kyoutani for a second.  
  
Right. The little artist doesn’t trust him. Can’t blame him, though, really. He wouldn’t trust himself if he was in Sugawara’s spot, wouldn’t trust anyone. Sugawara would be a fucking idiot if he _did_ trust them.  
  
Kyoutani runs his tongue over his teeth, looks back over at the man as he pulls out the bowls and the pan he’ll need. Copper eyes stay unwavering, stare him down with just a glint of malice and frustration in them.  
  
“When is the other one coming back?” Sugawara asks after a few moments of quiet. His fingers keep tapping against the island, beat picking up in speed. “Has he decided what he wants to do with us yet?”  
  
“He’ll be back when he’s back,” Kyoutani tells him, trying not to sound too annoyed. “He’ll tell you when he tells you.”  
  
The fingers stop tapping and Kyoutani inhales deeply through his nose, turns around to look at Sugawara.  
  
“The doctor said that he gets off on taking care of pretty, broken things,” Sugawara says, voice flat and eyes withholding emotion. The ashen haired man props his chin on his hand, resumes tapping the fingers on his free hand. “What? Is he going to keep Oikawa around as a pretty little pet? Is that what he did with you? Found you all broken and shattered and pieced you back together how he wanted?”  
  
Oh, this little _shit_.  
  
Kyoutani narrows his eyes at the man, takes in his blank face and half-shut eyes, the way pretty lips twist into a sneer after a moment of silence between them.  
  
“I’ll rip his throat out with my teeth if he lays so much as a finger on Oikawa,” Sugawara says cooly, fingers halting. “I’m willing to _behave_ if it keeps us safe but I’m not about to let him do whatever he wants with Oikawa.”  
  
Kyoutani isn’t sure if Sugawara is very fucking brave or very fucking stupid for those words. Both, probably. Doesn’t really matter, though. He just threatened to hurt Iwaizumi and that’s a thing that’s not going to be tolerated.  
  
Kyoutani takes a breath, tries to keep his temper under control. He takes the three steps needed to reach the island and places his hands on it, leans over close to Sugawara and stares him down. The man doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move. He just glares at Kyoutani, jaw tight and eyes burning.  
  
“I’ll snap your fucking neck if you try to hurt him,” Kyoutani promises him, a growl in his words. “If either of you hurt him, I’ll put an end to your miserable little lives.”  
  
Sugawara’s eyes narrow and a muscle in his neck twitches, a strained little smile popping up onto his face.  
  
“Look how fierce the puppy is over his master,” Sugawara says, voice melodic, holding a taunting lilt. Kyoutani narrows his eyes and Sugawara’s little smile flicks into something that could be called innocent under different circumstances. “What? The doctor called you Mad Dog and the other one called you pup this morning. What do you expect me to call you? It’s not like you two have _deigned_ to give us your names.”  
  
“You don’t need to know our names,” Kyoutani snaps at him, trying to keep his cool. Sugawara’s trying to provoke him and he’s not going to give him the satisfaction of playing into the man’s hands. “All you need to know is what we tell you.”  
  
“So basically nothing,” Sugawara scoffs. The tips of his ears are beginning to turn red, composed mask cracking further and further. “You know our names, you know who we are. But we don’t know a damn _thing_ about either of you and you expect us to just sit quiet and let you decide our future?”  
  
Kyoutani curls his fingers so his nails dig into his palms, takes a deep breath and tries not to snap back.  
  
“You don’t have a choice,” he tells him flatly. Sugawara flinches and Kyoutani leans a bit closer, watches as the man goes rigid. “You don’t have anywhere to go. If you’re telling the truth about his family, you know he can’t just go back. You can’t go back if you want to keep safe from Kuma, either. You have no choice but to sit here and wait until we decide what to do with you.”  
  
Sugawara flinches again, glares and opens his mouth to retort. Kyoutani cuts him off with a scoff, though. He tries to school his expression into something less annoyed, less aggravated. He doesn’t like talking this much, doesn’t like having to deal with this shit. Why can’t Sugawara just be quiet and out of it like Oikawa?  
  
“I don’t give a fuck about what happens to either of you,” Kyoutani says, taking a breath through his nose, “My partner does. He’ll take care of you two if you let him. He’s not going to hurt you. He’s not going to hurt Oikawa. He’s already cashed in favors to get you stitched up and he’s probably going to cash in more to keep you two safe. So fucking _what_ if Oikawa ends up being a pet? It’s better than being in that shit hole waiting for the next cock-eyed bastard to drag you off and fuck you.”  
  
Sugawara’s eyes widen and then narrow at that, a shaky breath exhaled. Kyoutani lets out a huff and turns around, tired of talking to the man.  
  
There’s a moment of silence as he walks over to the stove and then glass explodes just to the right of Kyoutani. He throws an arm up to protect his face, growls when he feels a stray shard graze over his neck. When he turns around Sugawara is standing up, cheeks scarlet, mouth twisted into a snarl. He’s shaking, his hands clenched into tight fists and trembling at his sides.  
  
“Fuck you,” Sugawara snaps. “Fuck you. Fuck you. _Fuck you_. What the _fuck_ do you know about anything? Where the fuck do you get off deciding what’s best for us? You don’t know shit about us, what’s happened to us.”  
  
Kyoutani blinks at the outburst, takes a breath and holds back his own snap as Sugawara takes a step toward him.  
  
“I don’t need to hear that this is better,” Sugawara says, voice almost choked with anger. “I fucking _know_. I know I can’t leave and I know it’s the best fucking choice I have for keeping Oikawa safe. I _know_. Oikawa is messed up and I have nowhere to take him and it’s all my fault and- _fuck_.”  
  
Sugawara rakes a hand through his hair, drops his head down and lets his shoulders shake before bringing his face back up again to glare at Kyoutani. He opens his mouth but then there’s the sound of footsteps, a soft and nervous “Koushi?” from the doorway.  
  
Kyoutani watches Sugawara’s face pale, all the frustrated blotches of scarlet across his cheeks draining away. The ashen haired man nearly runs over to the brunette, places his hands to Oikawa’s cheeks and smiles at him, the expression strained.  
  
“Shh, shh. Nothing’s wrong,” Sugawara says quietly, words wavering and eyes darting over to Kyoutani and then back to Oikawa. “It’s okay, Tooru. Why don’t you go back to bed? I’m going to bring you something to eat.”  
  
Something almost like a whimper comes from the brunette and Kyoutani watches him flinch when Oikawa glances over his way.  
  
“I...heard...I heard a noise,” Oikawa says, eyes moving back to Sugawara, distress rising up in them.  
  
“It was nothing, Tooru,” Sugawara tells him, petting at his cheek and smiling a bit wider. “It’s fine. Go wait for me, okay? Everything is okay, I promise.”  
  
Oikawa lets out a quiet little whine but nods, drifts out of the kitchen and out of sight. There are a few moments of silence and Kyoutani crosses his arms, looks at Sugawara blankly when the man turns around.  
  
“I’m not sorry.”  
  
Kyoutani raises one brow at the flat words, at the way the man’s face has fallen expressionless and without life. Sugawara blinks slowly and takes a few steps toward him. Kyoutani can just catch the slight movement of his right eye twitching, the way his nails dig into the fabric of the sweater when he crosses his arms.  
  
“You’re not going to hit me for that, are you?” Sugawara asks, some faint little smile twitching on his lips. “Oikawa would be upset at that and then your partner would be upset at _you_ for it, right? Is that how it works? Little puppy doesn’t want to disappoint his master, right?”  
  
Kyoutani takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and suppresses the impulse to walk over and get into Sugawara’s face and snap at him.  
  
Impudent. The artist is impudent.  
  
“Sit down and shut up,” he orders, opening his eyes and forcing a scowl back. He chooses not to address the correct little jab, the little instigation. He won’t give Sugawara the satisfaction. “No more talking.”  
  
Something like a sneer flickers over Sugawara’s face but the man obeys, sitting back at the island and pulling the staring act again, not saying one word but fixing those dull copper eyes on Kyoutani.  
  
He ignores the artist, takes another deep breath and begins cleaning up all the broken glass. He tosses the shards in the bin and then sighs, turns to everything he had pulled out and begins to assemble dinner.  
  
Fucking little brat. He thinks Iwaizumi is right- they must have had a hell of a time trying to break him.  
  
Kyoutani begins to grate the onion and then shred the cabbage up, hands easily following the task of making the meal while his mind drifts.  
  
_Had_ they been able to break Sugawara? He had been so out of it when they had stumbled upon the two; when the drugs weren’t pumping through his system, had he shown just as much bite and malice when his captors came for him? Or was he scared and quiet, submissive so Oikawa wouldn’t be punished for his bad behavior? Was he only showing a backbone now because he thought he wouldn’t get punished for it? Or was it a front to hide his fear?  
  
He scoffs a little at the thoughts, dumps the ponzu, sake, and soy sauce into a bowl and whisks them together.  
  
It isn’t like he really cares. As long as the little artist doesn’t get in his way, as long as he doesn’t try to hurt Iwaizumi. It doesn’t matter to him how snippy Sugawara is now, how he was before, how he might be in the future. Sugawara might be fine maybe, eventually. Might lose the attitude. Maybe be tamed. Doesn’t matter to him outside of it give something to Iwaizumi to fuss over, occupy his restless mind. That’s really the only thing that matters.  
  
Kyoutani pats the pork chops dry and gives them a few little slits. As soon as he moves to season them, his phone rings and he huffs, cleans off his hands and slides his phone from his pocket.  
  
“You done?” he asks, not bothering with a greeting.  
  
Iwaizumi sighs on the other end. “Yeah. But Aces called right after. I’m headed to do that.”  
  
Kyoutani acknowledges that with a hum, hears the light drumming of Sugawara’s fingers against the counter and turns to narrow his eyes at the man.  
  
“You going to be okay alone?” he asks his partner, folding an arm over his chest and staring the artist down.  
  
“Yeah. It’s just a small job,” Iwaizumi tells him. “I’ll be home late but it should be fine. How are they?”  
  
Kyoutani clicks his tongue as Sugawara hops off the bar stool and walks over to the stove. The ashen haired man gives him a nasty little look and Kyoutani lowers his phone, covers the mouthpiece with his hand.  
  
“Didn’t I tell you to sit your ass down?” he asks, voice low and gruff.  
  
“At this rate we’re never going to eat,” Sugawara snaps. “I’ll make it.”  
  
He resists the urge to roll his eyes and grabs the knife, moves it away and earns a scowl from Sugawara. He moves so he can lean against the island and watch Sugawara, sighing as he raises the phone up to his ear again.  
  
“I’m not good at this shit,” Kyoutani grumbles to Iwaizumi.  
  
There’s a snort of laughter from the other side of the line and Kyoutani frowns, eyes Sugawara as the man drizzles oil into the pan.  
  
“What? Did Sugawara stab you again?” Iwaizumi teases.  
  
Kyoutani huffs and shoots back a “no,” earns another little snort of laughter from his partner.  
  
“He’s just being feisty again then,” Iwaizumi says with a small sigh. “How’s Oikawa?”  
  
“Dunno. He looked a little less out of it, I guess,” Kyoutani tells him, noticing how Sugawara’s back stiffens at the words. “Who knows how long that will last, though.”  
  
Iwaizumi hums. “He’ll get better eventually.”  
  
“Maybe,” Kyoutani says, voice neutral.  
  
“I should go. I’m almost there. Keep them out of trouble, okay?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah.”  
  
Iwaizumi hangs up and Kyoutani shoves his phone in his pocket, crosses his arms and watches Sugawara silently.  
  
The man’s fingers are shaking as he reaches over for the pork chops, his back unnaturally stiff. Sugawara stays quiet as he places the meat in the pan, grabs a pair of cooking chopsticks. Pale fingers toy with them and the man rolls them in between his palms, staring into the pan with a far off expression. He looks absolutely gone, absolutely lost in memory.  
  
Kyoutani watches as he flinches, blinks quickly and shakes his head, brings himself back to focus.  
  
Sugawara’s annoying. He’s impudent. He’s sharp and waspish and almost infuriating with his little acts of bravery.  
  
But.  
  
Kyoutani can respect, at least a little bit, his ability to keep himself from getting lost, from breaking down. He’s strong- stronger than he had been when Iwaizumi brought him home.  
  
It has to be Oikawa, Kyoutani thinks. With the brunette delicate and lost and confused, it has to be pushing Sugawara into keeping himself together. He’s probably constantly a moment away from a panic attack but having someone to look out for must keep him wanting to stave it off.  
  
He wonders if he would have been like Sugawara if he had someone to look out for when Iwaizumi had picked him up. If his sister had made it, would he have been more composed?  
  
The thought pricks at him and he shakes it off, ignores it in favor of watching Sugawara flip over the pork chops, drizzle the sauce over the meat and dump the onion into the pan.  
  
The kitchen stays quiet for a few moments, the sounds of oil popping and meat frying being the only noise filling the air. Sugawara begins tapping the pan’s rim with the cooking chopsticks, a little rhythm that grates at Kyoutani’s nerves and disrupts the almost silence.  
  
It has to be anxiety, the tapping. Something to keep his nervous energy in check.  
  
“Do I have to ask before getting us food?”  
  
The sudden, quiet question surprises Kyoutani, makes him scratch at the back of his neck. He really had expected Sugawara to stay silent until the food was finished.  
  
He thinks for a moment, shrugs out an “I guess not” and earns something that almost seems like a scoff of laughter from the man.  
  
“At least there’s that,” Sugawara mutters, voice tinted with bitterness but also what Kyoutani thinks might be amusement.  
  
He has nothing to say in response. Kyoutani chooses silence instead, watches as Sugawara pulls the cutting board to him and places the pork chops on them. The man looks back at him, eyes cutting and cold again, still a bit burning somehow, though.  
  
“You going to cut this or are you actually going to trust me with a knife?” Sugawara asks with a snarky little lilt, lips twitching into a too falsely sweet smile.  
  
Kyoutani walks over to the counter, grabs a knife and begins cutting the pork chops up silently. Sugawara lets out a huff and adds two more slabs of meat into the pan, taps at the rim of it again. It’s a more agitated sound, fingers twitching so the chopsticks skitter along at a quick beat.  
  
Kyoutani bites back his annoyance, lets the man jitter around and concentrates on cutting up the pork chops. He sets them onto plates with the cabbage and then turns to Sugawara when he’s done, eyes a gritted jaw and the way the man is chewing into the inside of his cheek.  
  
“Take this to Oikawa,” Kyoutani tells him, voice a bit gruff as he points at the plates. “Take the other one for you too. Go eat.”  
  
Sugawara glances over at him, hesitation flickering over his face. A moment passes before he reaches out to the plates slowly, moving as if he thinks Kyoutani is going to smack his hands away and tell him he’s joking.  
  
He wonders for a moment how often they had been allowed to eat, if food had been dangled in front of them as a reward for good behavior.  
  
Sugawara lifts the plates and takes a step back from Kyoutani, a flash of anxiety running through copper eyes. He eyes him for a moment and then nods once, whispers a quiet “thanks” and then darts from the kitchen and out of sight.  
  
Kyoutani sighs and takes the abandoned place in front of the pan, pokes at the pork chops sizzling away.  
  
Bravado to anxiety. Sugawara is scared. Kyoutani doesn’t know how to handle that. But...he’s fed them. He kept his temper in check. They’re still there and they’re alive. So he’s done the job of babysitter right, he thinks. Iwaizumi doesn’t expect him to do more than that...right?  
  
He scowls, runs a hand through his hair as he looks down at the slowly browning chops.  
  
No, he’s done okay. It isn’t like there’s anything else he can do anyway. Letting Sugawara hole up in the room is alright...isn’t it? Forcing them out won’t do them any favors.  
  
Or maybe it would. Who fucking knows? He sure as hell doesn’t.  
  
Which is fine. He doesn’t care. He’ll just follow Iwaizumi’s lead, take care of them as his partner instructs. The older man can get them back in shape better than he ever could; he’ll just help out with his partner’s pet project as needed.  
  
It’s probably good that they found them, he thinks as he flips the pork chops over. Iwaizumi’s been getting restless lately, more tired and more prone to boredom. He needs a distraction, something to keep him occupied. This’ll keep him entertained for awhile, maybe. Keeping the two will be bearable if only because it’ll keep Iwaizumi busy and entertained. He can deal with it.  
  
He does want their room back, though. He’ll get Iwaizumi to switch them out from the main bedroom to the guest room.  
  
The sound of footsteps makes him look up and he catches the sight of Sugawara with tear filled eyes before the man ducks his head, swallows and moves to the fridge. Kyoutani watches him grab two bottles of water with shaking hands, lips pressed tight together and chest heaving with shallow, silent breaths.  
  
Well, shit. What could have set him off in such little time? Is he supposed to say something? Keep quiet?  
  
He doesn’t have the time to decide. The grey haired man bolts out of the room before he can open his mouth and Kyoutani is left with a raised brow.  
  
Whatever.  
  
Not his problem.  
  
He finishes up his meal, dumps the dirty dishes in the sink and leaves the kitchen to sit in the living room and veg out a little bit.  
  
It’s on impulse that he glances down the hallway as he passes it. He pauses and takes in the sight of Sugawara crouched down with a hand pressed to his mouth and shoulders shaking. The man rocks back and forth for a moment before standing, raking a hand through his hair and swiping at his face. It’s almost a little creepy how easily a pleasant smile flicks onto Sugawara’s face after he takes a breath, composed mask sliding on before he slips into the bedroom.  
  
The artist is too good at that, Kyoutani thinks as he sits down on the couch, flicks the tv on and to a random movie. Sugawara’s going to crack, though, if he keeps it up. The inevitable breakdown is something that Kyoutani is not looking forward to, is something that he doesn’t want to deal with.  
  
Maybe it’ll be a quiet one, though. Something that’ll happen without much flair.  
  
Kyoutani snorts at the thought. Yeah, right. Sugawara had thrown a glass at his head when his self-control slipped just a fraction- an actual breakdown from the man is going to be intense as hell.  
  
He huffs silently and takes a bite of the tonteki.  
  
He can probably maintain Sugawara if he has a breakdown. He can’t be empathetic, sympathetic. But. He can keep the man from hurting himself. Sugawara probably doesn’t want pity anyway. Probably doesn’t need pity. Would probably just make it worse if Kyoutani tried to fumble his way through consoling the man.  
  
He can’t really remember Iwaizumi consoling him or trying to when he was picked up off the streets. Iwaizumi had taken care of him but he never tried to pity him, never tried to apologize for what had happened to him.  
  
Which was good. He would have probably snapped Iwaizumi’s head off if he had tried.  
  
So no pity for the artist or the lost little former astrophysicist to be. They don’t need it. He can’t fake it anyway. He’s- how did Yahaba put it once? Emotionally stunted.  
  
Which is bullshit. He feels things. Just not for everyone. Almost no one. Just Iwaizumi, really. No one else really matters. No one else is going to matter. He’s never been built to care outside of those closest to him. His sister, his parents. Iwaizumi. He sort of cares about Watari and Yahaba, Matsukawa and Hanamaki; he’d break someone’s arm for them, at least.  
  
Though that’s more because Iwaizumi cares about them.  
  
Kyoutani sighs, runs his hand down his face and shakes off all the musings. He doesn’t want to think about, doesn’t care to put the effort into mulling over feelings and relationships. In the end it always boils down to one thing; he cares about Iwaizumi, will do anything to keep him happy, will take care of snarling, scared artists and confused little disowned elites as long as it’ll make Iwaizumi happy.  
  
Everything is for Iwaizumi.  
  
Everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kyoutani is hard to write y'all ;u; I'm too rambly for someone so blunt and concise.  
> But I love him. He's so, so good in so many ways- even if he can be an asshole- and he's the definition of a ride or die bitch and just. Love him with me.
> 
> Come say hi and hello on [my tumblr](https://moramew.tumblr.com/)~


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for the chapter: panic attack, vomit, sexual content (starts at "Kyoutani just blinks heavily at him..." and ends at "Kyoutani's eyes are heavy with sleep, too...")

Tired. He’s fucking tired.  
  
Iwaizumi groans, swipes his access card against the elevator’s scanner and rests his forehead against the wall as the elevator kicks into life and begins travelling up. It moves silently, a well oiled machine that’s filled with too bright light. He can’t wait to be back in the penthouse, back where he can grab a beer and change clothes and pass the fuck out.  
  
Probably won’t be able to, though. His body is begging for sleep but his mind is still thrumming, buzzing loudly with the aftershock of adrenaline.  
  
It’s going to be a Ambien night if he wants to get any actual rest. Maybe, though, if Kyoutani hasn’t fallen asleep like he suspects, Iwaizumi can fuck until his mind calms down and he’s able to curl up next to his partner. Maybe.  
  
The elevator dings quietly, alerts him that he’s on his floor. He drags himself out and into the penthouse, snorts to himself when he walks into the living room and finds the blonde passed out on the couch.  
  
Of course.  
  
He sighs to himself, walks over to his partner and shakes him awake. There’s a groan and growl given to Iwaizumi for that and he lets out a huff of laughter as he prods Kyoutani to climb into bed, go to sleep there. The blonde obeys, scrubbing at his face with his hands as Iwaizumi leads him to the guest bedroom. He steals a quick kiss, something soft he’s not able to get under different circumstances, and nudges Kyoutani toward the bed. It makes him smile when the blonde flops down onto it, yawns and curls up just a bit.  
  
His smile falls a little, though, as he backs out and steps over to the firmly closed door of the main bedroom. There’s a soft light filtering out from under the door, a little golden glow. Are they still awake?  
  
He sighs but opens the door and walks in.  
  
Silence. They’re asleep. That’s good then.  
  
Iwaizumi makes his way to the dresser, pulls out some clean clothes to wear and looks toward the bed. The lamp on the nightstand is clicked on, keeping the room from falling into darkness. He wonders if that’s on purpose or if they had just fallen asleep like that.  
  
Almost without thinking he walks over to the bed and peers down at the two sleeping forms. On the far side of the bed Sugawara is curled up into a tight little ball, jaw moving as he grinds his teeth in his sleep. Oikawa is more loose, more free, curled up lightly and shoulders jerking when Iwaizumi takes a step closer. Bad dreams, maybe?  
  
He sighs and scratches the back of his neck. His phone buzzes in his pocket and Iwaizumi swears quietly, jerks it out and silences it. His ringtone breaks the quiet before it can be completely cut off, though, and he hides a frown when Oikawa stirs and whimpers in his sleep.  
  
When he glances down at his phone he sees that it’s Matsukawa’s number flashing on the screen. He chooses to ignore it. If it’s important, the doctor will call him back again.  
  
There’s a soft whine as he slides his phone back in his pocket and he watches as Oikawa’s eyes bat open. The man peers at him blearily, blinks slowly and pushes himself up from the bed with one hand. He runs his other hand through his hair and then down his face, tilts his head up to look at Iwaizumi with sleepy eyes. Iwaizumi stays quiet and lets the man yawn and cock his head, takes in the little bit of curiosity that seems to flit across fine features.  
  
Oikawa blinks at him, runs his eyes down to Iwaizumi’s neck and mumbles a jumbled little word that Iwaizumi can’t quite decipher.  
  
“What is it?” he asks.  
  
Oikawa blinks again, touches his own neck about where he’s been staring at Iwaizumi’s, mocha brown eyes going out of focus and turning almost dreamy.  
  
“Blood,” Oikawa murmurs, voice more clear.  
  
Oh, shit. Had he missed some?  
  
Iwaizumi frowns, touches his neck and feels the rough little texture of dried blood. Oops.  
  
“Uh, sorry,” he mutters, not really sure why he’s even apologizing. Oikawa just blinks, quiet as a mouse and eyes roaming up from Iwaizumi’s neck to his face again. Iwaizumi scratches the back of his head awkwardly, tries to offer a smile. “You okay?”  
  
“Thirsty,” Oikawa says, voice holding a small whine. “My head hurts.”  
  
Iwaizumi swallows a sigh, runs his hand through his hair. Had he given them the medicine Matsukawa had left? He can’t remember. Doesn’t want to wake Kyoutani up to ask him if he had given them anything either.  
  
“You want something for that?” Iwaizumi asks.  
  
Oikawa seems to hesitate, curling in on himself and dropping his head. He hugs himself, chews on his bottom lip and peeks up at Iwaizumi through long lashes.  
  
“Oikawa?” Iwaizumi asks, his exhaustion making him impatient. “You need some medicine?”  
  
The brunette squirms a little, tilts his head back up and frowns.  
  
“Koushi will be upset,” he whispers.  
  
Iwaizumi raises a brow at that, glances over at the still sleeping man. He’s rolled over now, has kicked at the covers until his torso is displayed, the borrowed sweater bunched up to reveal a bruised and bandaged stomach. Iwaizumi frowns at the sight and looks back to Oikawa, tries not to sigh when the man drops his eyes.  
  
“He’ll be upset if I give you medicine?” Iwaizumi asks, voice falling a little flat.  
  
Oikawa squirms a little, digs his teeth into his bottom lip and lets it go. Iwaizumi lets himself sigh this time, closes his eyes for just a second. They burn a little, ache with exhaustion. He feels weariness settle in his bones like birds in a nest and wishes he were in bed. When he opens his eyes, Oikawa still has his own cast down, face tilted up so the soft light of the lamp paints the right half of his face golden, highlights too sharp cheekbones and hollowed cheeks.  
  
“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says, trying to get the man to look at him. Lashes flutter but his gaze stays down. Iwaizumi frowns, scratches the back of his neck and then reaches out, cups Oikawa’s cheek. That gets those brown eyes up, wide and holding a sharp focus that Iwaizumi hasn’t yet seen from the man. Good. That’s better. “I’m taking care of you two, you know? I’m not going to do anything to hurt you.”  
  
There’s a shaky breath from Oikawa, lips falling apart and trembling. His eyes grow wider, focus dropping and gaze clouding over, growing muddy with some emotion Iwaizumi can’t name.  
  
“Taking care of us?” Oikawa whispers, voice so quiet Iwaizumi almost doesn’t hear him.  
  
“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says carefully, voice quiet and gentle, calm. It feels like he’s talking to a scared child, almost. Oikawa’s lashes flutter, a stuttered breath leaving him. “Taking care of you. Helping you get back on your feet. Keeping you safe-” There’s a tiny whimper at that and he chances smoothing his thumb over Oikawa’s cheekbone, earns a shiver and Oikawa just going so slack and pliant, fucking _melting_ against his palm. “-and making sure you’re okay. I got you out of there. I’m going to take care of you.”  
  
Another whimper sounds, the expression on Oikawa’s face breaking into something lost and vulnerable. His eyes glint with sudden tears and Iwaizumi swears softly when Oikawa blinks and long lashes turns wet.  
  
“Hey, hey,” he says, running his thumb over Oikawa’s cheek again. He gets a quiet whine for it this time, Oikawa’s lips trembling as if he’s _this_ close to crying. “Don’t do that, okay? Let me take care of you. You want some medicine? Something to drink? You need something to eat?”  
  
Oikawa nods, lips forming a “please” that doesn’t quite get vocalized. Iwaizumi pats at his face gently, brushes his knuckles over his cheek and steps away. Just beside Oikawa, Sugawara stirs in his slumber. Iwaizumi bites back a sigh when the man flinches and whimpers in his sleep, when pewter lashes flutter open and a low moan sounds.  
  
Well, shit. He had hoped that the man would stay asleep. He’s too tired to deal with snarls and suspicious glares.  
  
Sugawara stares at him with hooded eyes, lips falling open and gaze dead, lifeless. He blinks once, pushes himself up with a shaky arm and wraps his arms around Oikawa, pulls him close and away from Iwaizumi. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even muster up the energy for a glare. Sugawara just closes his eyes again, presses his face into Oikawa’s side and shudders.  
  
Iwaizumi sighs and rubs the back of his neck, frowns.  
  
Well. At least he didn’t get snapped at.  
  
“I’ll be back in just a minute,” he tells them. He eyes the grey haired man, hesitates and sighs again. “I’ll bring a snack or something for you, too.”  
  
No response. Oikawa blinks at him, a dreamy little haze falling over his face. Sugawara’s arms tighten around Oikawa and Iwaizumi sighs, walks out of the room.  
  
His exhaustion feels more prevalent with each step toward the kitchen. His fingers itch with the need to hold a cigarette between them and he gives into that vice without hesitation, pulling out his pack from his pocket. He groans when he realizes there’s only one left but lights it up as he walks to the kitchen, puffs away and gives a tired sigh.  
  
The medication Matsukawa had left them is still on the counter where he had left it, untouched and unmoved. When he picks it up and peers into the bottle, it looks as if the store of pills resting within hasn’t depleted. He really must have forgotten to give the two a dose that morning.  
  
Well. Whatever. They had looked fine enough.  
  
He pokes around in the cabinets for something easy for them to eat, tiredly blows smoke out as he eyes their stores of food. He needs to go shopping soon. Maybe he can send Kyoutani out in the morning.  
  
Iwaizumi ends up picking out something random and pulls out two bottles of water for them from the fridge. He snatches up the pills, tosses his cigarette butt into the sink and heads back to the bedroom.  
  
The door is still cracked open and he can just barely hear Sugawara’s voice float down the hall as he walks to the bedroom.  
  
“Tooru, don’t let him touch you.”  
  
“He’s safe. He saved us...right? Was...it was...him, right?”  
  
“Tooru, please. Just. _Please_.”  
  
There’s a crack in Sugawara’s voice and a little confused noise right after. Silence falls when Iwaizumi walks into the bedroom, Sugawara glaring over at him with too bright eyes and Oikawa blinking at him.  
  
“I didn’t really know what you wanted,” Iwaizumi mutters, feeling awkward. He steps toward the bed and tosses the water bottles on it, the pack of milk bread he had snatched up at random. “I’ve got medicine too.”  
  
Something strange falls over Sugawara’s face when he looks at the middle of the bed to where Iwaizumi had tossed the bottles and bread. He looks almost shocked, stunned. A bit bewildered, maybe. There’s a happy little crow from Oikawa, a hand reaching out to snatch up the pack of bread and Sugawara blinks once, brings his knees up to his chest and hugs them tight. Iwaizumi raises a brow at the odd response and Sugawara chews on his bottom lip, hunches his shoulders.  
  
“Milk bread is his favorite,” the man says quietly, words blank, a bit dull.  
  
Iwaizumi glances over at Oikawa, eyes the gleeful little smile and the way he tears into the pack.  
  
Well. At least one of them is happy.  
  
Iwaizumi sighs, scratches at the back of his neck before taking the pill bottle from his pocket. Sugawara refuses with a small shake of his head when Iwaizumi raises a brow and shakes the bottle. Oikawa crawls over to the edge of the bed, though, and sticks his hand out, dutifully slugs the pills back with a sip of water. There’s a tightness to Sugawara’s jaw at that but the ashen haired man stays quiet, pulls his knees even closer to his chest.  
  
Iwaizumi sighs again, steps away and folds his arms across his chest. When he asks if they need anything else there’s a harsh “no” from Sugawara and Iwaizumi frowns a little, shrugs it off and picks up his pajamas, finishes what he had originally walked into the room to do.  
  
He leaves and hears quiet footsteps behind him, the door to the bedroom pulling firmly shut.  
  
It’s a little odd, that. He would have thought they wouldn’t be able to handle the door being closed. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to go?  
  
He idly pushes the musing away as he walks into the guest bedroom. A yawn escapes him when he strips down, another one following after that isn’t his. He turns to find Kyoutani sitting up in bed, running a hand down his face and staring over at him with tired eyes.  
  
"Go back to sleep,” Iwaizumi tells him, moving to pull on a pair of sweatpants.  
  
Kyoutani just blinks heavily at him, shuffles over to the edge of the bed and reaches out to pull Iwaizumi closer. Iwaizumi swears a little when Kyoutani nuzzles against his abs, noses down the little patch of hair from his belly button to his briefs and tugs at them with his teeth. He moves a hand to stroke through overgrown, bleach blonde hair and groans quietly when Kyoutani slides a hand up his thigh.  
  
“I’m too tired to fuck,” he says reluctantly. It’s a shame, really. Fucking Kyoutani while the blonde is sleepy is always a nice little treat. He’s always so pliant, giving in with only half the fight. But Iwaizumi is too tired to really indulge, do it properly and appreciate the opportunity. “I’ll fuck you in the morning.”  
  
“Fuck me in the morning, let me blow you now,” Kyoutani mutters, hand moving up to squeeze at Iwaizumi’s cock.  
  
Iwaizumi swears again, grits his teeth a little when he feels his dick stirring to life.  
  
Well, _now_ he’s awake.  
  
“Someone’s needy,” Iwaizumi murmurs, eyeing Kyoutani and running his hand through his hair again. “You miss me or something?”  
  
Kyoutani just blinks at him slowly, gives a nod before hooking his fingers under the hem of Iwaizumi’s briefs and pulling them down in a swift little motion.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Fuck.  
  
Iwaizumi breathes deep through his nose when Kyoutani leans forward, licks at the head of his cock. He curls his fingers through blonde hair and grips it tight, pulls Kyoutani away before he can do much more.  
  
“I didn’t say you could do that,” he growls out, tugging on Kyoutani’s hair and watching as pupils slowly begin to blow out, as a tan chest moves with a deeper inhale of air. “Did I, pup?”  
  
There’s a huff from Kyoutani, a sleepy little scowl. He stays still, though, and doesn’t move when Iwaizumi moves his hand from his hair, grabs his jaw. It takes much less effort than normal to get Kyoutani to pop it open, tilt his head back so Iwaizumi can look down into his mouth, see the glint of a tongue ring and the throat he knows can swallow him down so, so well.  
  
He smooths his thumb over Kyoutani’s bottom lip, slips it into his mouth and runs it over the edges of sharp teeth, dips it down to stroke along the concave backs of them. Kyoutani’s teeth come together in an unforgiving bite against his knuckle and Iwaizumi narrows his eyes, slides his other hand to wrap around a tan throat. He slides his thumb along Kyoutani’s neck, digs into it until teeth part again and his knuckle is free.  
  
“No biting,” he rumbles. Kyoutani gives a huff around his thumb and Iwaizumi moves it so it presses into his tongue, makes the blonde swallow. “Open your mouth wider.”  
  
Kyoutani actually obeys and stretches his mouth open wider for him, lets Iwaizumi look at the flats of his teeth, the back of his throat. His tongue is so _warm_ underneath Iwaizumi’s thumb, so slick with the spit beginning to pool up. Iwaizumi takes a deep breath and moves his thumb to run over Kyoutani’s teeth again, slide along the velvet inside of his cheeks and over the ridges of his molars. The contrast makes him swallow back a groan and he slips his thumb out, goes to wrap his hand around his shaft.  
  
“Get your mouth on my cock,” Iwaizumi orders, curling his fingers through blonde hair again and tugging Kyoutani close to him.  
  
Kyoutani gives him a heated little look, his lips twitching with the edge of a smirk. Iwaizumi narrows his eyes at him again, pulls him to his dick and stifles a little growl when Kyoutani takes him all the way down in one go.  
  
It’s hard not to swear, buck his hips and fuck into Kyoutani’s face already. Harder still to control himself when he knows that Kyoutani _wants_ that, had probably been thinking about it while Iwaizumi was off breaking bones and smashing faces. Fucking little shit agreeing that he missed Iwaizumi. God, is he _trying_ to kill him?  
  
The thing about Kyoutani is that he’s _blunt_. Frustratingly upfront about his thoughts and opinions. Blunt _and_ apathetic. Doesn’t care about shit, doesn’t think to enjoy most things. So when he actually shows any sign of feeling something- wanting something- it’s just so-  
  
Iwaizumi hisses when Kyoutani does something clever with his tongue, pulls back despite being pushed down and opens his mouth to lap at Iwaizumi’s head, run his tongue over the glinting bit of metal embedded in his cock.  
  
Iwaizumi growls and yanks Kyoutani from his cock, leans his face closer to the blonde’s and nips sharply at his bottom lip.  
  
“If I didn’t spend all day offing dumb little shits, I’d fuck you until you couldn’t string together the words to speak,” Iwaizumi rumbles at him, frustrated for not having the energy for doing so. “Stop teasing and get to work.”  
  
Kyoutani just huffs and pushes forward again, sliding his lips over his head and sucking at it to make Iwaizumi groan. Iwaizumi finds his lips twitching into a little snarl, an aggravated expression. Fucking little brat is _asking_ for it and he just does _not_ have the energy to fuck him boneless like they both want.  
  
“You can tease all you want but I’m not fucking you tonight,” Iwaizumi huffs, exhaustion making his words snap with impatience as he pulls Kyoutani back from him by his hair. “I’m too tired for this shit.”  
  
He’s weak, though, and he’s hard and he needs to get off before he can get to sleep. And, _god_ , the sight of Kyoutani on the bed with his head tilted back and mouth open just for him is _too fucking good.  
  
_ Iwaizumi growls and reaches one hand out to hook his fingers into Kyoutani’s mouth, reaches to pull on his cheek to reveal more teeth and slide his fingers over them again. Kyoutani flicks his tongue to graze over his digits and Iwaizumi swears, moves them to the back of Kyoutani’s throat to make him swallow around a little gag.  
  
“You’ve got a choice,” Iwaizumi tells him, words a bit rough from want. “You can jerk yourself off while I come on your face and then go to bed so I can fuck you properly in the morning. _Or_ you can ride me and get me off and wait  for me to allow you to come whenever I feel like fucking you properly.”  
  
Kyoutani glares at him and Iwaizumi thinks he’ll get bitten again, maybe. But then a tan hand is sliding down to pull out his cock and Kyoutani’s jerking himself, opening his mouth wider and baring his teeth the way he knows Iwaizumi likes. Iwaizumi groans and runs his free hand through Kyoutani’s hair before wrapping it around himself again.  
  
“That’s a good boy,” he mutters, eyeing spit and teeth and a shining flash of metal nestled right in the middle of wet, pink flesh.  
  
Kyoutani’s lashes lower at that, a low groan vibrating out from behind Iwaizumi’s fingers in his mouth.  
  
And _fuck_ if that isn’t pretty. His rough punk ass of a partner staring up at him with nearly hazy golden eyes, his eyeliner smeared a bit from sleep and spit gathering up so it can dribble out the corners of his mouth as he jerks himself off for Iwaizumi. Fucking- _god_.  
  
Iwaizumi lets himself growl and twists his wrist as he strokes himself faster. He’s already getting close. His nerves are still buzzing lightly from adrenaline and Kyoutani is fucking hot as _hell_ and just- _god_.  
  
He moves his fingers down deeper into a willing throat and earns another gag, Kyoutani groaning around his digits and pumping himself faster. He looks close, too, and Iwaizumi pulls his fingers back to run along the backs of his teeth, spread them so they can brush over both plush satin and solid ivory. The contrast makes his cock twitch and he breathes deep as his pulse races.  
  
“Don’t you dare fucking come before I do,” he warns, voice rough. “Be a good boy and wait.”  
  
There’s another noise from Kyoutani, an almost stuttered breath taken. Iwaizumi’s nostrils flare at the way he pushes forward, forces Iwaizumi’s fingers down so he can gag on them again.  
  
“If you hadn’t been a fucking tease, you could be choking on my cock instead,” Iwaizumi tells him, swallowing back a groan when spit is pushed to drip from the corners of Kyoutani’s mouth, trail over the twin bits of metal resting just under the curl of his lip so that they shine. Iwaizumi swears and presses down onto Kyoutani’s tongue, makes his throat jump with a gasp. “God, _fuck_. I’m going to _break_ you tomorrow.”  
  
There’s a strangled little groan and Iwaizumi grits his teeth, jerks himself faster until he’s coming on Kyoutani’s face, splashing it across tan flesh and shining lips and his fingers still shoved down his partner’s throat. Kyoutani follows after with something that’s _almost_ a whine, coming on his own hand and screwing his eyes shut as he shudders. Iwaizumi pulls his fingers from Kyoutani’s mouth and reaches for his discarded shirt to wipe the come off his partner’s face, exhaustion making him woozy from the movements.  
  
“Good boy,” he murmurs as he cleans the blonde off.  
  
Kyoutani’s eyes are heavy with sleep, too, and Iwaizumi nudges him to lay back down once he’s wiped him clean. He tosses the shirt to the side and pulls on the sweatpants he had been trying to put on when Kyoutani had woken up. Weariness makes him flop on the bed without grace and he pulls his partner to him, wraps his arms around him and gives a huff at the light snore that sounds.  
  
Of course.  
  
He yawns and places a small kiss to Kyoutani’s cheek, closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep with ease.

* * *

Iwaizumi is woken up when Kyoutani rolls out of his arms and smacks at his chest with a light huff and scowl.  
  
“You fell asleep without showering,” the blonde grunts. “You smell like shit.”  
  
“You weren’t complaining last night,” Iwaizumi grumbles, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. Kyoutani huffs and Iwaizumi slides his eyes over to him, smirks just a bit. “Wanna shower with me, pup?”  
  
The minute lowering of Kyoutani’s lids and the tight nod makes his smirk grow even more and Iwaizumi gets out of the bed, walks to the bathroom without looking back.  
  
By the time the shower ends, they’re both sporting new bruises and scratches and the bathroom is so thick with steam that Iwaizumi could swear that they were in a sauna. Kyoutani’s got the imprints of Iwaizumi’s hands on his throat from where he choked him out and Iwaizumi has bite marks all over his hips and sides from where Kyoutani tore into him. If he had the energy, he might document the new marks, snap some photos so he can admire them another time.  
  
But he doesn’t. He’s hungry and languid from fucking, as close to relaxed as he can get. All he has the energy to really do is dress himself and think about what he wants for breakfast, how to bring up talking to his partner about Oikawa and Sugawara. The night before had cemented his desire to take care of them, to board them until they’re better.  
  
He wants to watch over them and he’s really unsure of how his partner will handle it. Kyoutani is _possessive_ and gruff and antisocial. Pushing two new roommates- one snarly and one out of his mind- on him might not turn out well.  
  
Or it could. Who the fuck knows?  
  
Kyoutani is lounging on the bed idly, watching Iwaizumi with eyes still a bit hazy from dropping and pleasant exhaustion, when Iwaizumi decides to try to talk to him.  
  
“Kyou?” he asks. There’s a little grunt in response from the man and Iwaizumi sighs just a bit, turns from the dresser and crosses his arms over his chest. “I want to take care of them. Keep them here until they’re back on their feet.”  
  
Kyoutani just blinks and gives a simple “okay.” Iwaizumi raises a brow and the man huffs, sits up a little and runs a hand through his hair.  
  
“I already knew you wanted to do it,” Kyoutani says simply, bluntly. “I don’t care. Just make them take the guest room.”  
  
Iwaizumi lets out a huff of laughter, walks over to the bed and looks down at his partner.  
  
“Am I that predictable?” Iwaizumi asks him.  
  
Kyoutani just shrugs, grabs him by the waist and pulls him down into his lap. Iwaizumi gives another small laugh, grants him a kiss and groans when Kyoutani nips into his bottom lip and then slides his mouth down to bite along his neck.  
  
“Didn’t mark your territory enough?” Iwaizumi teases, hissing when Kyoutani’s teeth sink in a little deeper.  
  
Kyoutani gives a little growl, pulls away and looks at him, tongue running over his teeth as he eyes him.  
  
“You’re only predictable because of that fucking big heart of yours,” Kyoutani tells him, voice rumbling. He gives another bite to Iwaizumi’s neck, noses up and nips at his earlobe. “Take care of them if it makes you happy. I don’t give a shit as long as they don’t try to pull anything.”  
  
Iwaizumi hums, letting his eyes fall close as Kyoutani grips at his waist, digs his thumbs into his hips and rubs circles against his skin.  
  
He’s being given a lot of attention this morning. It’s nice, really. Something he needs after spending the day before chasing down a traitor and snapping the necks of some punks trying to muscle their way into new territory. He wants to enjoy it, wants to lay Kyoutani back against the mattress and go for round two.  
  
But they should have breakfast, coax their _guests_ out to eat and try to talk to them.  
  
“Mmm. We should start up some breakfast,” Iwaizumi says with a sigh, voice reluctant. “You wanna start on it while I wake them up?”  
  
Kyoutani grunts but nods and Iwaizumi steals one last kiss before slipping off his lap and out of the room. The door to the main bedroom is still firmly shut, no noises sounding from behind it. He eyes it and gives a little knock, a gruff “I’m coming in.”  
  
No response.  
  
He opens the door and walks inside, finds Sugawara sitting up and leaning back against the headboard, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep and face worryingly pale. Oikawa is nestled up beside him, head resting in Sugawara’s lap and shoulders jumping in his sleep.  
  
Sugawara remains silent as Iwaizumi steps over to the bed, his eyes tiredly drifting up to look at Iwaizumi and his fingers combing through Oikawa’s hair.  
  
“We’re making breakfast,” Iwaizumi tells him, folding his arms over his chest and trying not to frown. “Get him up and come to the kitchen when you’re ready to eat.”  
  
Sugawara stares at him dully, blinking slowly before giving a small nod. Iwaizumi almost raises a brow at that, at how he’s going along with things instead of snapping and snarling at him. He decides to just take it, though, and nods in return, goes to leave the room.  
  
“Can we shower?”  
  
The quiet, rasped out question makes Iwaizumi pause and he turns back around, tilts his head as he looks over at Sugawara. The ashen haired man just keeps his eyes trained on a still sleeping Oikawa, fingers carding through thick chocolate brown hair.  
  
“Yeah,” Iwaizumi tells him. “You can shower. Breakfast will probably be done by then. Just come out when you’re ready.”  
  
Sugawara gives another nod and Iwaizumi leaves the room, heads to the kitchen and sits on a bar stool to watch as Kyoutani rifles around.  
  
“Pretty sure Sugawara didn’t sleep last night,” Iwaizumi says with a sigh, propping his chin on his palm. “Well. At least not after I accidentally woke them up.”  
  
Kyoutani just gives out a small hum, head tilting a little as he eyes the contents of the fridge.  
  
“We’re out of eggs,” Kyoutani grumbles, looking almost disappointed.  
  
Iwaizumi sighs and frowns a little. “We need to go grocery shopping.”  
  
He pushes himself from the bar stool and stretches, scratches his head and yawns quietly.  
  
“I’ll go get some,” Iwaizumi tells him. “Need to get smokes anyways. We need anything else?”  
  
Kyoutani shakes his head and Iwaizumi wanders to the main bedroom, something relieved running through him when he looks in to find it empty.  
  
They’re definitely switching Oikawa and Sugawara over to the guest bedroom. He doesn’t want to deal with possibly facing a growly artist every time he needs a new change of clothes.  
  
Iwaizumi sighs and walks over to the closet, pulls out a pair of old jeans, some random shirt, and a hoodie. He thinks about how he needs to find clothes for the two of them as he pulls on the outfit, frowns when he thinks it might just be easier to guess their sizes and buy them things instead of dealing with trying to coax it out of Sugawara and Oikawa.  
  
Whatever. They can deal with it for a little while longer.  
  
Iwaizumi snags his wallet and his phone from the bedroom, pops into the kitchen to tell Kyoutani that he’s off and then leaves the penthouse.  
  
The sun is absolutely blinding when he steps out of the building.  
  
He huffs and glances around the street before walking over to the small convenience store across the way, dodging a power walking businessman shouting into his phone. Iwaizumi snorts at that and pushes the door open to the convenience store, steps in and looks around.  
  
It’s empty except for a few kids skipping out on their morning classes and Iwaizumi takes a little breath of relief. He’s really not in the mood to deal with a lot of people this morning.  
  
He gathers up a carton of eggs, a pack of milk bread, and a newspaper. He ignores the look one of the kids give him, the way over lined, interested eyes follow him to the cash register.  
  
They really should be in school.  
  
“Ah, gracing me with your presence today, Iwaizumi-san?”  
  
Iwaizumi rolls his eyes at the lazily grinning brunette and plops everything down on the counter.  
  
“Thought you were going to quit?” Iwaizumi asks.  
  
Futakuchi just hums and shrugs, ringing up the items and pulling down a pack of Iwaizumi’s preferred cigarettes without being asked.  
  
“Nametsu-san offered me a raise,” Futakuchi tells him, adding the cigarettes to the total and sticking his hand out for cash. “I believe her words were ‘If you quit then there will be no one to wrangle Koganegawa-kun and the store will burn down in less than a day.’ Or something like that.”  
  
Iwaizumi gives a little huff of laughter and accepts his change, tosses it into the donation box next to the register and takes his bag. He nods his goodbye and then leaves the little store, heads back to the penthouse.  
  
It smells like coffee when he wanders back in and Iwaizumi hands over the eggs to Kyoutani before pouring himself a cup and plopping down at the island again.  
  
“What are you making?” he asks, taking out the pack of cigarettes so he can light one up as he scans the newspaper and sips at the bitter brew.  
  
“Pancakes,” Kyoutani informs him. “And sausage.”  
  
Iwaizumi hums his approval, lights up a cigarette and idly looks over the front page of the newspaper. Nothing really interests him, grabs his eye. So he flips through the paper boredly until he pauses on a small article about Sugawara and Oikawa. It’s speculating about them being missing, if they’re tied together, if some other recent kidnappings are linked. There’s a photo of them both next to the words, a snapshot of the two of them on a college campus. They’re laughing and they look happy and it feels surreal seeing versions of the two so full of life.  
  
He finds himself frowning at the photo, drumming his fingers against the coffee mug as he studies it.  
  
There’s still the feeling of having seen Sugawara before. Something just itches at his mind, tugs at his memories. He’s _so_ sure he’s seen Sugawara before. He just can’t remember _where_. It’s not like he hangs out with college kids. It’s not like he hangs out anywhere that he’d see such a sweet looking face.  
  
Sugawara. Sweet.  
  
Iwaizumi snorts a little, waves his hand dismissively when Kyoutani glances over at him.  
  
He’s pretty sure Sugawara is anything but sweet.  
  
He’s still ruminating over it all when Kyoutani slides a plate in front him, when Sugawara and Oikawa quietly appear in the doorway of the kitchen.  
  
They look better, Iwaizumi thinks. Sugawara still looks worn out and dull but Oikawa looks a bit more there, lips twitching nervously but his eyes peering around curiously. They’re wearing fresh clothes, too, and the sweater that Oikawa has on gives the smallest peek at a strip of milky, bruised skin whereas Sugawara is completely covered- save for where the too big sweater bares a bit of his clavicle, skims just a bit of his shoulders.  
  
He studies them for a moment and then glances over to the stove, the coffee pot.  
  
“Grab something to eat,” Iwaizumi tells them.  
  
There’s hesitation before they move, Sugawara eyeing Iwaizumi and Kyoutani with suspicion before quietly tugging Oikawa over to the stove to pile up two plates with food. The artist gives a quiet “thank you” after handing a plate to Oikawa and hesitates again, as if unsure if they’re allowed to leave or not. Iwaizumi just sighs and rakes his hand through his hair, jerks his head toward the living room.  
  
“Go sit in there,” Iwaizumi tells them. “Let’s have a talk.”  
  
Sugawara stiffens while Oikawa flinches beside him and Iwaizumi watches as a pale throat swallows anxiously, as a jaw becomes tight with stress.  
  
They leave the kitchen and Iwaizumi sighs again, looks at Kyoutani.  
  
“Think it’ll go over well?” he asks.  
  
“Sugawara knows they have no other option,” Kyoutani says simply, making his own plate. “He has no choice but to accept it if he wants Oikawa to be safe.”  
  
Something almost annoyed seems to pass over Kyoutani’s face after he says that. But then the blonde just shrugs, walks out of the living room. Iwaizumi follows after him to find Oikawa and Sugawara curled up on one of the couches.  
  
Sugawara eyes Iwaizumi warily as he sits down next to Kyoutani, a fork held tightly in his hand.  
  
Iwaizumi wonders if it’s really okay to trust him with anything that can be used to stab them. He just shrugs it off, though, and looks over at them as he takes a sip of coffee.  
  
“What do you want to talk about?” Sugawara asks after a beat of silence, the question coming out from between gritted teeth.  
  
Beside him Oikawa picks at his food, eats it as he tilts his head and looks at Kyoutani and Iwaizumi curiously. He seems a little lost, blinking as if he’s having trouble understanding what’s happening. Iwaizumi sighs at that and takes his time setting his cup of coffee down, stabs at a sausage link with a fork and takes a bite before answering.  
  
“I’m going to keep you here,” Iwaizumi says simply. He ignores the way Sugawara’s eyes tighten, the way his body stiffens up. “I want to take care of you until...well, until you can take care of yourselves. Give you a safe place to stay.”  
  
It doesn’t slip his notice how Oikawa’s eyes go unfocused at the words, how a small noise drops from parted lips.  
  
“Kuma is still out there,” Iwaizumi continues, ignoring the flinch from Sugawara. “And Oikawa is…” He hesitates to just say it, knows he’s not doing any favors by not being blunt. “He’s not...well.”  
  
“No need to sugarcoat it,” Sugawara snaps, surprising Iwaizumi just a little. “He’s out of it, he’s fucked up. I know it. He knows it too.”  
  
Iwaizumi raises a brow at the words, watches as Oikawa’s lashes flutter close and the way the man leans against Sugawara’s shoulder, a quiet whine sounding from him. Sugawara doesn’t soften as he narrows his eyes further, stabs into a piece of pancake and scowls at it.  
  
“We have no choice but to stay here,” Sugawara says bitterly. “We have no choice but to think we might be safe. I _know_. What do you want from us in return?”  
  
Not this again.  
  
“Nothing,” Iwaizumi tells him. He takes a deep breath, ignores the scoff that comes from Sugawara. “I’ve already told you that.”  
  
“Nothing. You want _nothing_ ,” Sugawara says slowly, something almost scornful in his voice. “You want to give us a place to stay. You don’t expect anything from us. That’s very hard to believe.”  
  
Iwaizumi frowns, opens his mouth to say something and then closes it when Sugawara lifts his head higher, fixes Iwaizumi with a stern look.  
  
“The doctor said you like taking care of pretty, broken things. That- what were his words? Oh, right. That you _get off_ on it,” Sugawara says cooly. Iwaizumi scowls and goes to snap a retort but Sugawara’s lips twitch and his hand raises up, cutting Iwaizumi off. “Your partner-” Sugawara slides his eyes over to Kyoutani and gives an aggravated little huff. “-insinuated that Oikawa would be treated like a pretty little pet to be doted on.”  
  
“Oh. God _fucking-_ ”  
  
Iwaizumi cuts himself off before he snaps at Kyoutani, scowls deeper when the blonde just raises a brow and gives him a knowing look, something that says “you can protest but you know it’s true.”  
  
Why the _fuck_ does everyone keep assuming that he wants to keep them as pets? All he’s trying to do is be a decent fucking guy and take care of them. Is that so hard to believe?  
  
“I don’t care either way,” Sugawara says, cold voice slicing across his thoughts. “I’ve thought about it. Oikawa needs taken care of. He can’t leave, he can’t go home. I certainly can’t do shit for him.”  
  
Oh, that’s bitter as hell.  
  
Before he can say anything, Sugawara turns his head to the side and presses his lips to Oikawa’s temple, gives a deep sigh.  
  
“Dote on him if it gets you off. Dote on him if it makes you happy. Take care of him,” Sugawara says flatly, dully as he looks over at Iwaizumi with eyes fallen dead and blank. “Try to fuck him and I’ll slice your dick off and make you choke on it.”  
  
Iwaizumi blinks at the threat, feels Kyoutani shift and sees him lean forward out of his peripheral and bare his teeth.  
  
“You really want to do this again?” Kyoutani growls out.  
  
Again? What the fuck?  
  
Iwaizumi raises a brow as Sugawara’s lips twist into a little sneer, as a pretty face turns vicious.  
  
“Oh, we don’t have the rehash that,” Sugawara says, voice almost mocking, almost coy. “I’m just telling your master what I told you, puppy.”  
  
There’s a growl from Kyoutani and Iwaizumi huffs, puts his hand on his partner’s shoulder and pulls him back to the couch. Iwaizumi scowls when Sugawara gives Kyoutani another little sneer, when Oikawa gives out another soft whine and buries his face into Sugawara’s neck. He sighs and rakes a hand through his hair, tries to compose himself before he gets too irritated.  
  
“I’m not going to fuck him,” Iwaizumi says, lips dipping into a frown when a scornful look flickers across Sugawara’s face. “I only want to get him back on his feet. I only want to get you _both_ on your feet again.”  
  
Something like a scoff slips from Sugawara, his eyes darkening.  
  
“It’s hard to believe that,” Sugawara shoots back. “I don’t have the _luxury_ of believing that. I can’t trust you. I can’t trust anyone. I can’t even trust Oikawa. He’s-”  
  
Sugawara cuts himself off, lips pursing. Iwaizumi raises a brow, opens his mouth to ask what Sugawara means by that and gets cut off by a loud huff from the man.  
  
“Look. I…” Sugawara takes a deep breath and rakes a hand through his hair, tousling it up into an even bigger mess. “I’m trying to tell you that I’m going to _behave_ . Do my best to be _docile_. As long as you take care of him, as long as you help him, I’ll go along with things to the best of my abilities. It all goes out the window the second I think you’re trying to fuck him.”  
  
“I’m not going to fuck him,” Iwaizumi snaps back. He scowls and crosses his arms over his chest again, tries to school his temper again. “Just because I kill people doesn’t mean my morals are totally fucked.”  
  
Sugawara actually snorts a little at that, looks over at him as he absently pets at a frowning Oikawa.  
  
“I don’t care what you do outside of interacting with Oikawa,” Sugawara says plainly, matter of factly. “You could put a bullet through an orphan’s head and I wouldn’t blink an eye. I don’t _care_. The only thing that matters to me is his safety.”  
  
It’s Iwaizumi’s turn to snort. He eyes Sugawara, sees truth in his eyes and wonders just how devoted the man is to the brunette, if he’s always been that way or if it developed from the situation.  
  
His sighs and tilts his head to the side, rubs at his jawline and scowls at the bristly stubble covering it.  
  
“He’ll be safe,” Iwaizumi tells Sugawara. “Both of you will be. I won’t let Kuma-” Sugawara flinches at the name and Iwaizumi has to hold in another sigh. “-get you again and I’ll board you until you’re both back on your feet.”  
  
Sugawara opens his mouth but a quiet whine of “Koushi” cuts him off, makes him sigh and look over at Oikawa with a soft little expression.  
  
“Koushi,” Oikawa says quietly, tugging at Sugawara’s sleeve. “Koushi, who are they?”  
  
Sugawara’s eyes slide over to Iwaizumi, to Kyoutani.  
  
“That’s a good question,” Sugawara says, head cocking a little. “Who are you?”  
  
The words come out biting, somehow sharp even if they are laced with a sugary sweetness and come paired with a saccharine smile. Iwaizumi frowns, crosses his arms over his chest and sighs.  
  
“Not important,” he tells them.  
  
Sugawara’s lips twist again, something dark flickering across his face.  
  
“You’re going to keep us in the dark even with that?” Sugawara asks, voice frustrated. “Why? It’s not like we have anyone to tell. What are we supposed to call you then?”  
  
“How about sir?” Kyoutani snaps, annoyance whipping through the words.  
  
“When hell freezes over, mutt,” Sugawara hisses back.  
  
Oh, for fuck’s sake.  
  
“ _Enough_ ,” Iwaizumi barks before Kyoutani can growl anything out. A whimper from Oikawa makes Iwaizumi take a deep breath, close his eyes for a moment to try to cool his temper. “Didn’t you just say you were going to behave?”  
  
Sugawara glares at him, rakes his hand through his hair and lets out an angry little noise. Iwaizumi blinks at the way Sugawara holds his hand in his hair, ashen locks pushed back into something like a quiff. A memory dances by and Iwaizumi lets out a distracted, quiet “oh” that makes Sugawara drop his hand from his hair.  
  
“What?” he huffs and snaps.  
  
“Nothing,” Iwaizumi tells him, shaking his head a little. “I just...remembered where I saw you from.”  
  
Sugawara frowns, rakes his hand through his hair again as annoyance and confusion takes over his face.  
  
“What are you talking about?” he asks, frown deepening. “You saw me before...this?”  
  
“You remembered?” Kyoutani rumbles out, crossing his arms over his chest and ignoring the irritated click of Sugawara’s tongue.  
  
“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says slowly, running his eyes over Sugawara. “Remember that job we had, like...about half a year ago? The one with Kita?”  
  
Kyoutani blinks slowly but then there’s a nod and a spark of understanding in golden eyes.  
  
“The art gallery,” Kyoutani mutters. “Shit, yeah. With Sawamura.”  
  
There’s a moment of silence, something tense and cold. When Iwaizumi turns to Sugawara, copper eyes are wide and his face is drained pale.  
  
“S-Sawamura,” Sugawara whispers. “What...what do you mean by that?”  
  
Another moment of silence and a shaky little breath from the man.  
  
“Were you going to kill him?” Sugawara asks, body tight and chest heaving just a bit.  
  
Iwaizumi snorts a little, shakes his head. “No, no. We weren’t there for _him_. We just noticed Sawamura chatting you up is all.”  
  
“But…” Sugawara takes another breath, almost seems to press back against the couch as anxiety flickers and flares up in his eyes. “Why...why do you know him? Why- why would you notice him?”  
  
Kyoutani gives a small huff of laughter from beside him, something gruff and callous.  
  
“Hard not to know the head of Karasuno-kai in this line of work,” Kyoutani rumbles out.  
  
There’s a split second of quiet, Sugawara freezing up and not moving an inch. But then his hand raises to his mouth and he bows over, curling into himself.  
  
“W-what?” Sugawara croaks, little tremors raking through his body. “He- he’s what?”  
  
Iwaizumi glances over at Kyoutani, frowns when he slides his eyes back to the two on the couch and finds Sugawara’s face turning a pale shade of green.  
  
“I’m guessing you didn’t know?” Iwaizumi asks, voice careful and light. Sugawara shakes his head, throat swallowing around something that almost sounds like a whimper. “Not a surprise, really. How do you know him?”  
  
“I…” Sugawara mumbles and flinches, presses his hand tight to his mouth for a moment before dropping it, shoulders jumping. “I’m going to be sick.”  
  
Iwaizumi blinks when Sugawara jumps up and bolts from the living room. Oikawa is left on the couch by himself, staring at Kyoutani and Iwaizumi with wide eyes and worry all over his face.  
  
“K-Koushi?” Oikawa whispers, pressing into the corner of the couch.  
  
Shit.  
  
“Kyou, go make sure he’s okay,” Iwaizumi mutters. The blonde sends him an irritated look and Iwaizumi raises a brow. “ _Kyou_.”  
  
Kyoutani just gives a little sigh, stands and leaves the room. Oikawa trembles when Iwaizumi looks over at him, curls into a tight ball.  
  
“Hey, he’s going to be okay,” Iwaizumi tells him, trying to school his tone into something soft, comforting. Oikawa just whimpers, presses against the couch as if he’s trying to get away from him. “It’s okay, really.”  
  
Maybe. He can’t be sure. Has no idea as to why Sugawara ran off.  
  
Maybe he really fucked Sawamura like Kyoutani had guessed way back then.  
  
Iwaizumi sighs as he runs his hand through his hair, reflects on the night briefly.  
  
It had been a surprise to spot Sawamura wandering through the art gallery, trailed after by his bored looking bodyguard and his second in command. It wasn’t a secret that the man was into art. But it had been such a small gallery, something filled with art students from a nearby university and their work. Nothing that seemed like it would catch his eye.  
  
Nothing that seemed like it would catch Kita’s eye either, though. But he was there as well and, after some snooping, they found that the man had an interest in one of the artists- a fine looking woman with cinnamon hair and a lazy, provocative smile.  
  
He remembers idly hoping that they weren’t really together, that he wasn’t going to have to snap her neck later that night. She had seemed bright, talented. It would have been a shame to snuff out her life.  
  
She didn’t leave with him, though. She had wandered off with the cute sandy haired blonde that had sculpted some elegant sculptures, showed off a passion for mermaids and aquatic life through marble and bronze. He remembers smiling a little to himself, tucking away the observation that one of the mermaids looked an awful lot like the cinnamon haired artist.  
  
Kita didn’t have a chance in the first place, really.  
  
He had watched the two walk off, turned a corner himself to trail after Kita and spotted Sawamura and (who he now knows had been) Sugawara standing in front of a large painting showing a crow eating the heart out of an angel’s chest. It had made him blink, the stark and vivid image hung up on the wall. It had made him raise a brow, though, when Sugawara had leaned over to Sawamura, whispered something in his ear and pulled back from him with an impish smirk, lowered lashes and parted lips.  
  
That was when Kyoutani had met up with him again and they had stayed paused for just a moment to watch Sawamura grab Sugawara’s chin, move his lips to the curl of his ear and whisper something that had made Sugawara shiver, grab Sawamura’s wrist and drag him off and out of sight.  
  
“Think Irihata knows Sawamura has a new fucktoy?”  
  
Those had been Kyoutani’s words, that’s what they had both speculated. It had been forgotten, though, in favor of the memory of shoving a knife into Kita’s neck, of skinned up knuckles and stitching up a wound on Kyoutani’s forehead, having to dive into a dumpster to avoid cops.  
  
Who could have guessed that the little artist they had gossiped about would have ended up in their care?  
  
Iwaizumi takes a breath, shakes the memory away and eyes a distressed looking Oikawa.  
  
“Will you feel better if we check up on him?” Iwaizumi asks, trying to be kind. The brunette squirms on the couch but then nods and Iwaizumi offers him a small smile. “Come on, then.”  
  
Oikawa obediently stands when Iwaizumi beckons him, follows him into the hallway. The sounds of retching makes Iwaizumi frown, has Oikawa wincing and going pale when Iwaizumi glances over his shoulder.  
  
He holds a hand out to stop Oikawa from rushing into the bathroom when they get there, presses him back gently when the man lets out an anxious, soft whine.  
  
Sugawara is hunched over the toilet, vomit falling from his lips and pale hands latched onto the bowl in a death grip. Ashen locks fall to hide copper eyes but Iwaizumi can still spot a little glistening track of tears, the slide of crystalline droplets down a pained face. Thin shoulders jerk with each heave and Iwaizumi grimaces at the splash of sick in the toilet, at the weak sobs that rattle out from the man.  
  
“Koushi, Koushi,” Oikawa cries out from behind him. Iwaizumi looks back at him when he feels hands wrap around his bicep, blinks in surprise at wide eyes and trembling lips. “Please don’t hurt him.”  
  
“I- what?” Iwaizumi furrows his brows, shakes his head as he looks at the man. “I’m not going to hurt him.”  
  
“Please don’t,” Oikawa begs, hands wrapping tighter around Iwaizumi’s bicep. “I’ll take it for him.”  
  
“I’m not going to-” Iwaizumi cuts himself off, takes a breath and tries to make his tone something a little less frustrated. "I'm not going to hurt him, okay?"  
  
He says it softly, touches Oikawa’s cheek with his free hand and gets a whimper for it from Oikawa, a shaky and harsh exhale from Sugawara.  
  
“Get your hands off him,” Sugawara rasps out, his voice so, so hoarse as he lifts his head from the toilet. There’s a slimy line of vomit plastered from his bottom lip to his chin, it dangling down from his face and then snapping and falling to the floor. “Don’t touch him.”  
  
“He’s not going to hurt him,” Kyoutani snaps at Sugawara from where he’s leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest and a scowl on his face. “Focus on yourself.”  
  
Oikawa shakes, inhales sharp enough that his skin stutters against Iwaizumi’s palm. Iwaizumi closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath, pats Oikawa’s cheek and then lets his hand drop, touches the ones wrapped around his bicep gently.  
  
“I’m not going to hurt him,” Iwaizumi promises Oikawa. “I promised to take care of you two, remember?”  
  
A whimper sounds from Oikawa and the brunette drops his hands, hugs himself tight as his eyes go wide and stare far off, as he loses himself in some memory or emotion that Iwaizumi can’t understand.  
  
There’s another heave from Sugawara and then the artist slumps against the toilet bowl, face deathly pale and a choked moan slipping from him. Kyoutani sighs and pushes himself from the wall, grabs a wad of toilet paper and moves to wipe Sugawara’s face off. The artist just glares at him, smacks his hand away weakly and snatches the toilet paper from Kyoutani’s grasp, cleans his chin up and wipes away his tears with shaking hands.  
  
“Don’t fucking touch me,” Sugawara snaps, eyes still bright and teeth gritting as he pushes messy hair from his face. “Leave me alone.”  
  
“God you’re ungrateful,” Kyoutani grumbles out, stepping away from the man.  
  
There’s a scoff from the ashen haired man, eyes hard and lips threatening to twist into a sneer.  
  
“If you’re waiting for me to fall to the floor and sob in gratitude, then you’ll be waiting until your very last breath,” Sugawara says flatly, words a little shaky as he wipes at his face again with the sleeve of the sweater and stands up on unsteady legs. “You’re just lucky Tooru isn’t himself- you’d be dealing with someone a thousand times more scathing.” There’s a bitter laugh, Sugawara tilting his head to the side and smiling in dark amusement. “Or maybe not. He’d probably already have you kissing his feet.”  
  
Before Iwaizumi or Kyoutani can say anything, Sugawara takes a deep breath and steadies himself, shoulders thrown back and head held high.  
  
If Iwaizumi hadn’t just witnessed it, he would have never known the man had just been hurling in a fit of (what he assumed had been) anxiety.  
  
He almost has half a mind to admire Sugawara and his ability to apparently not give a flying fuck that he’s being scathing and cold to the two people that had saved him and Oikawa, his ability to pick himself up from the floor and his misery with seemingly little effort.  
  
“Tooru still needs to eat,” Sugawara says, apparently trying to brush the incident under the rug.  
  
“Yeah, so do you,” Iwaizumi tells him, leaning against the doorway and folding his arms over his chest.  
  
“My appetite is gone,” Sugawara says flatly. “Can we just- _god_. Can Tooru just eat, _please_ ?”  
  
There’s impatience in Sugawara’s voice, something maybe almost pleading hidden underneath all the bravado, a crack in the man’s composure.  
  
Iwaizumi sighs but nods, steps away from the doorway and lets Sugawara brush by him, grab Oikawa’s hand and lead him away. Kyoutani just blinks at him when Iwaizumi glances over, shrugs a bit.  
  
When they get back to the living room, Sugawara and Oikawa are tucked up on the couch. Oikawa is eating with a dazed expression, staring at his plate as if it holds the secrets of the world. Sugawara’s eyes are closed, head resting against the back of the couch and face still drained pale.  
  
It feels awkward and strained and Iwaizumi scratches the back of his head as he tries to figure out how to pick things back up again.  
  
“You’re really not going to give us names to call you?”  
  
The question from Sugawara makes Iwaizumi sigh and he runs his tongue over his teeth, picks up his mug and takes a sip of now lukewarm coffee. Kyoutani just looks at him blankly when he glances over at him and Iwaizumi scowls down into the mug, takes a sip and wrinkles his nose.  
  
Whatever. It’s not like they have anyone to tell, any reason to believe that he’s even giving them their real names.  
  
He sighs again, sets his mug down and looks over at Sugawara, runs his eyes over a tired face.  
  
“Iwaizumi,” he says after a moment of silence. “My partner is Kyoutani.”  
  
Sugawara gives a noncommittal hum, eyes still closed. Beside him Oikawa blinks and cocks his head, gaze falling dreamy as his lips move to silently form what Iwaizumi _thinks_ is his name.  
  
“You kill people for money, don’t you?” Sugawara asks after a few moments of quiet.  
  
Iwaizumi glances over at Kyoutani again, gets another blank, almost bored look from his partner.  
  
“Yeah,” Iwaizumi tells Sugawara. “We do.”  
  
A sigh comes from the man, something deep and long. His eyes bat open but stay trained on the ceiling, face expressionless.  
  
“Okay,” Sugawara says after another pause, after a few more beats of silence.  
  
Iwaizumi raises a brow, cocks his head a little to the side. “Okay?”  
  
“Yeah, _okay_ ,” Sugawara says, a little bit of irritation running through the words. “Okay, whatever. I don’t _care_.”  
  
There’s a huff from the man and Sugawara stands, scrubs at his face with his hands and sighs.  
  
“I’m going back to bed,” Sugawara announces, turning his head to look down at Oikawa on the couch. “Come on, Tooru.”  
  
Oikawa follows Sugawara out of the room without hesitation, plate in his hands and feet stumbling.  
  
Something almost like exhaustion washes over Iwaizumi and he sighs, looks over at Kyoutani and shrugs.  
  
“Well. Went better than I thought it would.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone can guess who the two girls are in the flashback, you get bonus points. If anyone can guess all the piercings I've given Kyoutani and which ones I've given to Iwaizumi, you get double bonus points.
> 
> Come say hi and hello on [my tumblr](https://moramew.tumblr.com/)~


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warnings for this chapter: self-harm in the form of scratching, slurs, flashbacks to abuse (physical and sexual)  
> All flashback are contained within the large chunks of italicized texts and are completely skippable.

Oikawa is not okay.  
  
He’s not okay. He’s not well. He _knows_ this. He knows _something_ is wrong but he doesn’t know what or why and he _hates_ it. Everything is fuzzy and off and it’s upsetting him to the point of tears.  
  
Suga is talking, trying to tell him something. And Oikawa is _trying_ to figure out what he’s saying but there’s something ringing in his ears and everything is muffled and it’s so hard to even keep his eyes open, let alone find meaning in the words.  
  
What’s wrong with him?  
  
He tries to say something, tries to tell Suga that he’s _not okay_ but it just comes out in a soft whine. Suga frowns at him, studies him with a concerned look. From his right, another voice sounds and Oikawa finds himself swaying a little, woozy and confused and frustrated.  
  
Who’s trying to talk?  
  
He wants to try to turn his head to look but Suga softly cups his face and Oikawa finds himself whining again instead, leaning into his touch and struggling to read Suga’s lips. He believes it’s his name but he really can’t be sure and all he wants to do is lay down somewhere dark and hide until he can _think_ again.  
  
It’s so frustrating.  
  
He blinks and tries to focus, lets out a little whimper when Suga pets at his cheek with his thumb. It feels like so _much_ and it helps ground him a bit but it makes him want to both scream and melt against Suga, too.  
  
“Tooru, Tooru. Are you okay? Are you with me?”  
  
Oikawa blinks at the words and screws his eyes together because they make his head hurt even if they’re spoken softly. He gives the smallest nod he can manage without throwing himself into a dizzy spell and swallows back some sort of anxious whimper that’s threatening to tear out from his throat. Suga’s shoulders seem to relax a little with the nod and Oikawa tries to focus more, get back to where he’s not swimming through a fog.  
  
“Tooru, I need you to focus, okay?”  
  
The whispered words bring bile to his throat and he just wants to run but he can’t run from Suga. Never from Suga. Suga keeps him _safe_.  
  
“What set him off?”  
  
Oikawa almost grits his teeth at the low voice and the footsteps coming toward him, wants to whimper again when Suga’s eyes go hard as they glare over at...at…  
  
What’s his name again?  
  
“I don’t know,” Suga says quietly, petting at Oikawa’s cheek still with his thumb. His voice sounds strained and the muscles in his neck are twitching like they do when he’s stressed. “He’ll be okay.”  
  
Will he?  
  
Footsteps sound again and Oikawa tries not to just collapse on Suga when the man with the green eyes moves into his line of sight.  
  
He just feels so _tired_.  
  
“Tooru? Darling? I need you to tell me what you need,” Suga whispers, eyes brightening and growing wet. Oh, they’re really so pretty like that and it’s hard to look away even with his own feeling so, so heavy. “How can I make it better? Is your head hurting? Do you need medicine?”  
  
_Is_ it hurting? He doesn’t think it is. It’s just...fuzzy. It’s all so fuzzy and it feels like there’s a barrier between his mind and his mouth and he just can’t break through. The most he can do is shake his head and that just makes him whine because it sends him spiraling into a bout of dizziness.  
  
“Okay,” Suga breathes, some shaky inhale taken after. “You want to lay down? After I bandage you up?”  
  
Bandage? What needs…?  
  
He suddenly becomes aware of the stinging sensation in his foot and looks down with a frown.  
  
Oh. There’s...there’s a cut. How…?  
  
His head throbs and then his foot throbs and Oikawa trembles with the urge to throw up.  
  
The blood is too bright.  
  
“Wha- what happened?” he manages to croak out, blinking down at his foot and trying to understand, remember. There are little bits of what he thinks is a coffee mug around his foot but he can’t...he can’t remember. “Koushi, w-what-”  
  
“Shh, shh, Tooru,” Suga murmurs, gently but firmly tapping at his cheeks and making Oikawa’s eyes jump up from the mess on the floor. “You spaced out and I...I think you had an anxiety attack and dropped a mug. You got cut when the pieces scattered.”  
  
“I...what?”  
  
Oikawa blinks and sways a little, trying his hardest to remember what happened. He can sort of remember Suga handing him a coffee mug. He can sort of remember some snap from Suga to the scary blonde. He can sort of remember a raised voice. And then...and then nothing.  
  
“I…’m sorry,” he mumbles. It’s still hard to talk. Everything is still so _fuzzy_. “S-sorry.”  
  
“It’s okay.”  
  
Oikawa blinks at the voice and glances over to the man with the green eyes, struggles to understand the little grimace on his face. He looks unhappy and it sends anxiety spiking through Oikawa. He has to flex his fingers so his hands don’t shake and lets out a soft, soft whine even though he tries so hard to keep it inside.  
  
He waits for a snap or a threat of punishment but all that happens is Suga petting at his cheek with his thumb and nudging him to sit on the couch when the scary blonde shows up with a small bottle of alcohol and a roll of gauze. Suga takes it from the blonde with a grumbled “thank you” and then he’s kneeling on the floor in front of Oikawa, lifting his foot up and cleaning it off with the most gentle of touches.  
  
He thinks maybe he should say something, thank Suga for taking care of him. But all he can really do is stare down, transfixed, at the look of concentration on Suga’s face, at pale hands carefully swiping at crimson blood, and the way pewter lashes dust over too sharp cheekbones.  
  
When Suga glances up at him, something fizzles out and disconnects in Oikawa’s brain. There’s some sort of emotion in copper eyes that makes something in him shake and he doesn’t know if he wants to draw Suga to him so he can kiss him or kick him in the face and run away.  
  
It makes him feel drunk, almost, the look in Suga’s eyes. It makes him feel heady, even, when bitten up and worried over lips part and copper drops down to gaze at bruised over ivory as if Suga is not supposed to look at Oikawa, doesn’t have the _right_ to look at him.  
  
Panic and uncertainty are clouding his mind like a storm at sea, but Oikawa feels both profane and sacred in this one inconspicuous moment. He feels almost like a god with how Suga is treating him and it _frightens_ Oikawa.  
  
The feeling shatters when he hears a sigh from one of the other men and he almost sways even though he’s sitting down.  
  
It takes so much more effort than it should for him to blink and look over at them. All his movements are so slow, so delayed. It feels like he’s drenched in honey and it’s making everything heavy, languid. And when he is finally looking at them, they seem so far off even though they can’t be more than a few feet away.  
  
It’s just. Hard. It’s hard to concentrate on them. There’s a weird blur to them, almost, and his eyes can only seem to focus on small features. Green eyes. Eyeliner that’s lightly smudged. A fading bruise on a tan hand. Little metal beads resting under the curl of frowning lips.  
  
It’s upsetting and he whimpers without meaning to because he’s just so tired and so frustrated. Why can’t he make sense of anything? Why can’t he concentrate?  
  
“There we go, Tooru.”  
  
Oikawa’s eyes jump down to Suga again and he blinks slowly as Suga rises from the floor, holds out a hand for him to hold onto. Oikawa clings to it as he stands and shivers a little when Suga gives it a squeeze, begins to head out of the living room with Oikawa in tow.  
  
“You’ll be fine,” Suga whispers. “You’ll be fine.”  
  
Somehow it feels like Suga is talking more to himself than he is to Oikawa.

* * *

_His throat hurts.  
  
_ _It’s been almost an hour since he’s been manhandled, tied up, and forced to sit in the middle of a room to be leered at. The drugs that they had forced on him are starting to wear off and he almost wants to beg for more.  
  
_ _Almost.  
  
_ _He couldn’t beg for it even if his last piece of pride shattered like it’s threatening to. There’s a gag keeping his mouth wide open, all metal and uncomfortable and keeping him from forming anything other than choked little noises and cries. His mouth is forced open and there’s drool all over his chin, his chest, the floor in front of him. Cum is dried and caked onto his face, his hair.  
  
_ _He’s disgusting. He’s tired. He’s thirsty. He’s hungry. He’s probably about two seconds from passing out from exhaustion.  
  
_ _He doesn’t know how long they’re planning to keep him like this. The clock on the wall says it’s been almost an hour but it feels like a century and he’s so fucking tired. He’s not even upset anymore. He’s just. Tired.  
  
_ _When the next person steps up to him, Oikawa just closes his eyes. He tries his hardest to concentrate on the rope cutting into his arms, his chest instead of the man- the monster- shoving himself into his mouth. He tries his hardest to concentrate on the way his knees are radiating in pain from his legs being folded up and tied tight, how the tile is cutting into them instead of the slap across his face and the spit hawked onto his mouth.  
  
_ _It’s another thirty minutes before they decide they’re done with him, bored with him. His jaw aches when the gag is taken off him and he coughs up more drool and spit, winces and tries not to cry when he opens and closes his mouth to try to relax it.  
  
_ _He cries anyway._

 _It hurts just as bad when the ropes are tugged off him and he’s terrified by how heavy his limbs feel, how he’s almost unable to move them.  
  
__“You didn’t pass out. I’m impressed.”  
  
__Oikawa squeezes his eyes shut at the voice, at the feeling of lips near his ear, teeth grazing over the curl.  
  
__“Guess that means you earned dinner.”  
  
__The mention of dinner makes him whimper and he tries not to shake when laughter sounds around him. He’s so **hungry**.  
  
__Oikawa is dragged out of the room by two pricks with rough hands and hard eyes. They shove him into the bathroom and tell him that he has five minutes.  
  
__Five minutes. That’s two more than the last time.  
  
__He mechanically washes his face off with the shitty dime store body wash the filthy room holds and ducks his head under the sink faucet and tries to scrub the cum out of his hair. He thinks he manages it before he’s dragged out of the bathroom and shoved into the little hellhole that’s become his home.  
  
__He sighs in relief when he sees that Suga is there and then sighs again when a needle is pricked into his arm. He hates himself for wanting the drugs.  
  
__Oikawa doesn’t blink when he’s shoved to the floor and the door is locked shut behind him. He does panic, though, when Suga doesn’t stir from where he’s curled up on the floor. His eyes are closed and he doesn’t look likes he’s breathing and- oh god.  
  
__Oikawa scrambles over to him as fast as his limbs will allow and turns Suga onto his back and presses his ear to a too thin chest. He can’t hear any heartbeats.  
  
__Oikawa shrieks and hurriedly presses his hand to Suga’s chest, starts trying to do CPR. He can’t lose Suga. He can’t lose Koushi. He can’t. He can’t. He ca-  
  
  
_ Oikawa jerks awake and claws at his throat, gulps down stuttering breaths of air before jerking his head to the side and staring down at Suga. There’s movement under the covers, the sign of gentle breathing and Oikawa slumps against the bed, pants a little.  
  
Suga is asleep. He’s alive. He’s safe.  
  
Oikawa can’t remember what his dream had been about or why he woke up so worried over Suga but the feeling of relief that washes over him almost feels like a high.  
  
It’s a surprise for Oikawa to wake up and find Suga curled up and resting. It feels like it’s been ages since he’s seen Suga sleep. Everytime he’s opened his eyes since they’ve been taken to this...place (how long has it been since they came here? Days? Months? Hours? It all feels so floaty and off) Suga has been staring down at him with eyes that are red and holding such dark bags that they almost don’t seem real.  
  
Suga hasn’t been sleeping. But now he’s asleep and Oikawa doesn’t know what to do.  
  
He feels nervous with Suga asleep. He’s keyed up and he’s thirsty and he wants to get something to drink but it feels unsafe to try to go on his own. Suga wouldn’t like it. He’d be upset if he found out. And he can’t upset Suga.  
  
But…  
  
Oikawa worries his bottom lip and hesitantly shuffles out from under Suga’s arm, half hoping he’s going to wake up from the movement. He doesn’t, though, and Oikawa finds himself rocking a little bit as he stares over at the closed door anxiously.  
  
They’re in a different room now and he keeps forgetting about it and it’s disorientating when he looks around and there aren’t any windows to stare out of. He misses the other room. The sheets had smelled like spring rain and they had been softer, more worn and soothing against him.  
  
Oikawa misses the other room and he misses his dorm room but he doesn’t want to think about it because he can’t really remember what his dorm room looks (looked? It’s uncomfortable thinking someone else has moved into it) like and it makes him want to beat his head against the wall in frustration.  
  
He shakes his head and digs his nails into his palms to ground himself, winces at the light pain and glances over to Suga.  
  
He’s still asleep.  
  
Oikawa scratches at his forearm nervously, digs his nails in deeper to the soft flesh as he rakes them up and down and swallows back a gag when he feels healed over scabs scrape off.  
  
He shouldn’t scratch. Suga will be upset, probably. But his skin feels too tight and it’s itchy and he kind of just can’t stop once he starts.  
  
He scratches until he feels something warm run down over his wrist and looks down to find carmine under his fingernails and rubies dripping from his digits.  
  
Oh. Suga is going to be upset.  
  
That’s really the only thing that gets him to pull his hand away from his forearm. He stares down at little ivory moons turned red and frowns, frowns more when he takes a breath and remembers that he’s thirsty.  
  
Suga is going to be upset when he sees the scratches so he may as well quench his thirst if he’s going to be scolded.  
  
He stumbles when he stands and tries to walk to the door. His legs hurt when he walks and it makes him wince. He feels so weak and it’s so frustrating. He has _never_ been weak, never been a fragile thing and now even stumbling to the bedroom door is making him regret trying to take care of his needs.  
  
A twinge of stubbornness is what propels him to the kitchen.  
  
When he gets there he finds himself at a loss. His throat is dry and his legs hurt and he wants a drink but when he looks over at the fridge, something in his brain disconnects and fizzles out and he just can’t. He knows he wants to get a bottle of water but he’s staring at the handle instead of reaching for it and his brain feels wooly and there’s a vague wash of nausea that’s running through him.  
  
Why won’t his mind work? Why won’t his body work?  
  
He’s not sure how long he stands there, swaying lightly as he frowns at the fridge. He just slips into some weird, displeased haze that only gets disrupted when a few steps sound behind him.  
  
It takes so much more effort than it should to turn his head to look to see who it is.  
  
The blonde. It’s the blonde with his messy hair and resting bitch face and worn off eyeliner. His neck is covered in a riot of bites and bruises and Oikawa finds himself staring at it, fascinated even if he wants to hide himself from sight.  
  
There’s quiet for a moment before the blonde- what’s his name? They told him, didn’t they?- raises a brow at him and tilts his head to the side.  
  
“What are you doing in here?”  
  
Oikawa winces at his voice. It’s low and gruff and reminds him of rough hands pushing him into a room full of drunk dirtbags. The question whips anxiety through him, too, and he blinks and tries not to back away when the worry of if he’s allowed to be in the kitchen makes alarm bells go off in his head.  
  
“Where’s the other one?”  
  
Oh. Oh. Is...Is it that he’s not allowed to be out of the bedroom without Suga? Oh god. Is he going to get in trouble? Is he going to get Suga in trouble?  
  
He tries to say something, struggles to open his mouth to mumble that he’s sorry, he’ll go back in the bedroom and be good. Nothing comes, of course, and frustration eclipses the anxiety for just a moment.  
  
The blonde blinks slowly and gives a little sigh, rubs the back of his neck and eyes Oikawa with a vaguely annoyed look.  
  
“Did you...want something?”  
  
Oikawa bites his lip at the question and so very hesitantly nods, looks over at the fridge and then at the blonde.  
  
His name starts with a K, Oikawa thinks. What was it that Suga called him? Puppy? Oikawa can’t call him that...right?  
  
The blonde sighs again and walks over to the fridge, brushes past Oikawa and opens it.  
  
“What do you want?”  
  
Oikawa tries his best not to squirm and worries his bottom lip even more, flinches at how raw it is and manages to whisper a quiet little “water” to the blonde. The man just gives another sigh and grabs a bottle, holds it out to Oikawa. He reaches to accept it with a hand that is only slightly trembling and lets out a distressed noise when the blonde frowns and grabs his hand, twists his arm and shoves the sleeve of his sweater up to stare down at dried, flaky blood and pale skin turned angry pink and red.  
  
There’s quiet for a moment and Oikawa nearly whimpers, tries to pull out of the blonde’s grasp. His wrist feels disconnected from his body where the man’s hand is wrapped around it and he _doesn’t like it_. He feels _trapped_ and the only thing that keeps him from clawing out at the blonde’s face is the fear of being hit, the fear of Suga being punished for it.  
  
The blonde frowns at Oikawa’s forearm until Oikawa finally whines anxiously and tries to push away, flee. The blonde’s frown deepens and he sets the bottle of water on the counter to grab Oikawa’s other wrist, raise it up so he can study the bloodied nails.  
  
“You’ve been scratching.”  
  
There’s nothing he can say to that. Even if he did have something to say, he’d probably jumble it up and just end up more frustrated and upset. He swallows back another whine instead, his shoulders jerking as he still tries to get his hands free. The blonde frowns deeper, drops a hand and grabs the water bottle, gives it over to Oikawa and then begins to lead him out of the kitchen with a firm tug.  
  
He feels like crying and he tries to get his other hand free but the blonde huffs and tells him to calm down, tightens his hold on Oikawa’s wrist and tugs him all the way to the bathroom and pushes him to sit on the toilet. Oikawa squirms, clutches at the bottle of water and tries very, very hard not to bolt from the room when the blonde opens a drawer and pokes around it loudly. The noise _hurts_ him- all the jostling of unseen objects and the squeak of the drawer on its track and the impatient huff _grates_ at Oikawa, makes him feel almost nauseous.  
  
He squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn’t get sick and swallows some bile back in his still too dry throat. He’s vaguely aware of how cold the water bottle is clutched against his palms, how it’s making his hands clammy and damp. He wants to drink it but his hands don’t want to work and if he moves them from their tight grip on the bottle he might scream and scratch at himself again.  
  
He’s so tired of being scared.  
  
“Let me see your arm.”  
  
His eyes bat open without his permission and he feels his shoulders hunch when he raises his eyes to find the blonde looking down at him with a blank expression. There’s a bottle of antiseptic in his hand and a little roll of gauze and it’s only seeing those that keeps Oikawa from running.  
  
He hesitantly sticks out his arm, flinches when the blonde pushes the sleeve up and studies it again, softly smoothing his thumb over the undamaged skin while he looks the scratched up mess over. It stings when the man cleans it, makes Oikawa want to whine when he’s gentle with his movements. Something about that just makes Oikawa want to give a sob and he _hates_ it. He hates it _so fucking much_.  
  
Why is he so sensitive?  
  
The blonde cleans off his forearm and wraps it up maybe a bit too snugly, not looking at Oikawa once while he goes about it. That’s a minor relief because Oikawa really isn’t sure if he can handle having eyes on him without either smacking at the man or crying.  
  
He thinks he’ll be free to go crawl in bed and hide once the blonde rolls his sleeve back down but the man reaches over to the counter instead and grabs a pair of nail clippers before gently taking Oikawa’s hand in his.  
  
It’s _too_ gentle and Oikawa takes a shaky breath when he blinks and his vision grows blurry, wet.  
  
It’s so, so quiet and the snick of the clippers makes his shoulders jump even if he tries to keep them still. The blonde stays silent as he clips the nails of the first hand, rough fingers carefully moving it around so he can get at the nails. He clips them short, so short that Oikawa can’t scratch himself and so short that it almost hurts. Oikawa gnaws on his bottom lip as he watches the blonde, almost rocking back and forth.  
  
The blonde moves to the other hand wordlessly and cuts at the blood crusted nails with a quiet precision. When he reaches the middle finger, he pauses and glances up to Oikawa, frowns when Oikawa swallows shakily and tries to yank his hand back on instinct.  
  
“Try not to scratch. It’ll upset them.”  
  
“T-them?” Oikawa blurts out, voice too soft, too uncertain for his liking.  
  
The blonde just nods, drops his gaze again and delicately lifts Oikawa’s pointer finger to snip off the rust stained nail. He’s quiet for a moment and there’s an uncertain relaxing to Oikawa’s shoulders, a little rush of confusion.  
  
“The artist. He’ll be annoying if he sees you like this. And Iwaizumi will be worried,” the blonde tells him quietly.  
  
Oikawa blinks at the blonde, blinks again. Iwaizumi? He frowns, shakes his head a little as he thinks back to the man with the green eyes, the man that promised to take care of him, keep him safe.  
  
Safe.  
  
Oikawa’s lashes flutter close and he tries not to sway, moan when some emotion he can’t quite name runs through him.  
  
Safe. He wants to be safe. Wants to be taken care of. He’s so _tired_ and everything is _so much_ and his mind won’t _work_ and he just...he’s tired. He’s trying to keep his head above the water for Suga but he just wants to _not_...he…  
  
He doesn’t even know. He’s just tired and the blonde is scary looking but his touch is gentle and there’s the fear of being hurt but Iwaizumi promised not to harm him so he just wants to _not_. He just wants to not be scared. He just wants to not be tired. He just wants to not do anything. He just want to curl up and rest and wait for his mind to stop feeling so fractured, wait for his body to stop hurting, stop feeling so raw and tight.  
  
There’s a final snick of the clippers and then Oikawa’s hand is given back to him. The blonde takes a step back and Oikawa looks up at him, at the shadows underneath his eyes and the bruises on his neck and shadow of stubble along his jaw.  
  
“Go back to bed.”  
  
Oikawa blinks at the little order and nods, eyes drooping from a rush of exhaustion. He mumbles a little “okay” and stands up, sways when a whisper of vertigo makes him close his eyes. The blonde is still there, frowning, when Oikawa bats his eyes open and Oikawa just blinks at him before taking the stumbling steps forward to leave the bathroom.  
  
He makes it to the bedroom and collapses down next to Suga, stares down at the water bottle clutched in his grasp. He’s so tired and the effort needed to twist it open feels like too much but he manages it and swallows down half the bottle before clumsily putting the cap back on and curling up in bed.  
  
He’s only able to remember the scary blonde’s name when he rolls off into the fringes of sleep.  
  
Kyoutani. The blonde’s name is Kyoutani.

* * *

_Oikawa chokes, gagging on something foul and beating his fists against thick thighs. He claws at merino wool and lets out strangled little whimpers, gasps violently when the hand in his hair pulls him back and allows him to breathe. He tries to push himself away, tries to flee.  
  
_ _All he succeeds in doing is getting his hair pulled tight so more tears drip down his cheeks, so more laughter sounds.  
  
_ _“What? Don’t like my cock, Oikawa-san? Am I not pretty enough for you?”  
  
_ _The hand in his hair tugs, forces him to turn his head and stare over at Suga, stare at shiny silver running down a pale thigh and little beads of scarlet blossoming in its wake.  
  
_ _He squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to see, gets slapped for doing so and forces his eyes open again.  
  
_ _“You don’t want to suck mine? What about Sugawara-san’s? He’s more your taste, hmm?”  
  
_ _“No, please,” Oikawa whispers, shoulder hunching. “Please no-”  
  
_ _“Oh? Why not? You fags were fucking each other before. You don’t want your little boyfriend?”  
  
_ _“No, no. Please, I don’t-”  
  
_ _“Then maybe you should have thought about it before you went parading around town with him,” a voice hissed in his ear. “Wouldn’t be here if you weren’t a fucking fag.”  
  
_ _A choked sob leaves him even if he desperately tries to keep it hidden and there’s more laughter, his hair being pulled tighter. Someone spits on him and he tries to curl up and hide himself. Just a few feet away, Suga lets out a whine and a whimper as silver traces over his hip, his waist. His eyes are glassy and unfocused, lips trembling and face ghostly pale.  
  
_ _Oikawa wishes he was still drugged up and out of it, too.  
  
_ _“T-Too...Tooru…”  
  
_ _Someone shoves him and his face meets the floor before his arms can shoot out to keep him up.  
  
_ _“Well, go on. He wants you. Not going to deny him, are you?”  
  
_ _“Please,” Oikawa begs. “Please don’t make-”  
  
_ _The knife that had been lazily running over Suga’s chest jumps to a pale neck, rests against it as cold eyes stare down at Oikawa. Suga slurs his name again and Oikawa shudders, flinches when someone kicks at him.  
  
_ _“Tooru…”  
  
_ _“Please, no-”  
  
_ _“Tooru.”  
  
_ _“No, please don’t-”  
  
  
_ “Tooru, are you okay?”  
  
Oikawa jerks a bit and blinks, turns his head to find Suga looking at him with a worried little look. He blinks and nods, leans into Suga’s touch when cool fingers brush over his cheek.  
  
“Why are you crying?” Suga asks quietly, concern blossoming brightly in copper eyes.  
  
He...he’s crying?  
  
Oikawa frowns and touches his cheek, frowns a bit more when his fingertips turn wet.  
  
“Oh.”  
  
It’s really the only thing he can say. He doesn’t know why he’s crying, can’t think of any reason as to why he would be. He can’t even remember what he was doing.  
  
Oikawa glances around and then down at his lap, finds a plate in it holding a half eaten sandwich.  
  
Oh. He had been eating then.  
  
“Tooru?”  
  
He blinks and looks back over at Suga, tilts his head a little. Suga seems tired. Is it late?  
  
“Tooru, are you really okay?” Suga asks, brows furrowing. “I need you to tell me when things aren’t okay. When you’re hurting. Do you have a headache again?”  
  
Oikawa shakes his head, tries to pick up his sandwich and drops it. He frowns down at his hands and flexes his fingers, stares at how pale his skin looks against the black of his sweater.  
  
Wait, no. This isn’t his sweater. It’s too small. Whose is it?  
  
He tugs at the sleeves of the sweater and tries to get them over his wrists, his hands. They’re simply too short, though, and he lets out a whine when they won’t go down.  
  
“Shh, shh. It’s okay, Tooru.”  
  
Oikawa blinks at Suga’s voice in his ear, at the soft, careful touch given to his hands.  
  
“Too small,” he mumbles. “I don’t like it.”  
  
Suga gently tugs his hand away from the offending sleeve and holds it, smooths his thumb over the back of his hand in a comforting little motion. Oikawa sighs softly and relaxes against him, blinks and feels a fuzzy wash of drowsiness wash over him.  
  
“I’ll talk to them about it,” Suga tells him quietly. “See if I can get you something more fitting.”  
  
Oikawa just tilts his head to look at Suga and blinks heavily, nuzzles against Suga’s shoulder.  
  
“Tired,” he mumbles out.  
  
“Go to sleep then, Tooru,” Suga says gently, still smoothing little circles against his hand. “Rest up.”  
  
He does.

* * *

_“Fuck, that’s a pretty little piece.”  
  
_ _“Right? He’s good, too. Little whore has a mouth like nothing else.”  
  
_ _There’s a snort, smoke blown toward his face. Oikawa struggles to turn his face from it, eyelids heavy from whatever they had last injected him with. He gets his hair tugged on for that, a cigarette pressed just below his collarbone.  
  
_ _When he whimpers and cries out they both laugh and he tries to curl into himself, bites into his lip so he doesn’t beg for them to stop because it just makes it so much more worse when he does.  
  
_ _“Where’s the other one?”  
  
_ _The question is asked by someone else, someone just out of his line of sight. The voice is rough and low and makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He wants to run away, crawl into the corner and hide from that voice and its owner. But there’s a hand in his hair and a knife glinting on the seat in front of him and it’s not worth fighting when it’s just going to earn him another cut and making Suga upset.  
  
_ _“Downstairs,” Kuma rumbles out, his hand in Oikawa’s hair tugging tight to pull him between spread legs. Oikawa tenses, thinking he might be pushed to suck him off, but Kuma doesn’t do anything- he just has Oikawa rest his head on his thigh so he can tug at his hair, run the knife over his cheek to make him squirm. “I was going to send our little Oikawa-san down to the boys but the bitch begged to take his place.”  
  
_ _There’s a bark of laughter from Kuma’s guest, the one smoking and leering at him with a cruel grin. Oikawa winces and tries to tune it all out, focuses on the pain radiating through his knees from being forced to kneel on the tile instead.  
  
_ _It’s easier thinking about that. Easier thinking about how his knees hurt, the way the fresh burn mark makes him want to scream when it brushes against Kuma’s pant leg. So much easier than thinking about the way Suga had thrown himself in front of him, how he had pawed at Kuma’s leg and begged the bastard to throw him to the wolves instead, how Suga’s voice had cracked when he promised to be_ **_good_ ** _.  
  
_ _Oikawa swallows a whimper and the bile rising in his throat, squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn’t spill tears. He doesn’t want to give them the satisfaction.  
  
_ _“Aw, something wrong, Oikawa-san? Not liking our company?”  
  
_ _Oikawa flinches and snaps his gaze up to find Kuma staring down at him, a lazy smirk on his face.  
  
_ _“Maybe you need someone to play with and keep you occupied while the big boys talk.”  
  
_ _His shoulders jerk when the door is opened and music filters into the smoky room. There’s a little sob that sounds and Oikawa feels his heart drop immediately.  
  
_ _No. Not again.  
  
_ _“Oikawa-san, meet Eriko. She just came in. Why don’t you introduce yourself?”  
  
_ _“Please, no,” he whispers, digging his nails into palms and forcing himself to look up at Kuma, at cold eyes dancing with amusement. “Please, I...I’ll d-do anything.”  
  
_ _A smirk blossoms across Kuma’s face at that and Oikawa feels everything in him vibrating with pure loathing. For Kuma, for the situation, for himself.  
  
_ _It disgusts him that he might have found Kuma handsome under different circumstances.  
  
_ _“You’ll do anything,” Kuma drawls. His head cocks to the side and there’s an almost thoughtful look on his face as he lets go of Oikawa’s hair. “Turn around.”  
  
_ _Oikawa takes a shuddering breath before obeying and turns around to find himself staring at a girl that can’t possibly be older than sixteen, staring at hands bound in rope and tears staining cheeks and a body covered in bruises.  
  
_ _“Over here, girl,” Kuma orders.  
  
_ _The girl is shoved toward Oikawa and falls to her knees in front of him, openly weeping and staring at him with eyes begging for mercy. He feels so bitter staring into them, bitter at the emotions that well up in pretty green eyes.  
  
_ _As if he has any control over anything that happens.  
  
_ _He feels Kuma bend over from behind him, hunch over him. Oikawa flinches when the bastard runs his hands down his arms, panics when a knife is slipped into his grasp and Kuma’s hands grip them so tight his bones grind against each other.  
  
_ _“Let’s see what our little Eriko-chan can handle,” Kuma mutters right in Oikawa’s ear. Bile immediately rushes up through Oikawa’s throat and he begins to thrash, try to get out of his grasp. “Come on, Oikawa-san, you can either fuck her or cut her. It’s up to you.”  
  
_ _“P-please let me go,” the girl begs with a little whimper, words cutting through the sobs that make her whole body shake. “Please let me see my s-sister. W-where is s-she? Where’s-”  
  
  
_ “Where’s your master, puppy?”  
  
Oikawa blinks and lifts his head from his arm, looks around tiredly. Had he fallen asleep?  
  
Across the living room, Suga is talking to the scary blonde, arms folded across his chest and a hard little smile on his face. The scary blonde- no, he knows his name. What is it?- scowls at Suga, snaps something about not calling him puppy. Oikawa just blinks again and lets his head fall back to where it had been pillowed on his arm, sleepily glances around the room.  
  
It’s raining out, all grey and soothing as little drops tap against the long glass wall. It makes him want to sleep again, makes him want a cup of tea and a book to read.  
  
He misses reading.  
  
Oikawa lets his eyes wander over to Suga and the scary blonde. Suga looks angry and tired, his face all pinched and wan and his fists clenched. The blonde looks aggravated and it makes Oikawa nervous. He closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see and lets himself drift, lets himself block out the hissed words and irritated growls.  
  
He floats and his mind wanders idly, brushing over random thoughts before drifting to another. It sticks to a memory of Suga carefully placing flowers in his hair while he posed patiently for a painting and Oikawa has to shiver himself back to full consciousness so he doesn’t cry.  
  
He’s really tired of crying.  
  
When he bats his eyes open, the man with the green eyes is standing by the couch and looking at him with a pensive little expression. There’s a cigarette in between callused fingers and a small splash of blood on the back of his hand and, somehow, it’s beautiful. _He’s_ beautiful. He reminds Oikawa of some of the paintings Suga used to do, all hard edges but holding soft eyes and washed over with the grey that’s filtering into the penthouse.  
  
Maybe not a painting, though, Oikawa thinks idly as he peers up at the man. Maybe something from a movie. A character plucked out of some noir film and shoved into his existence.  
  
Oikawa blinks heavily when the man crouches down, looks him over at eye level. With him closer, Oikawa can see how thick his lashes are, a few tiny scars scattered just under his jawline. His eyes are a bit red and tired but the flecks of orange and gold dashed throughout dark green make something warm flutter in his stomach.  
  
He wonders what his name is. It’s I...Iwa...god, what is it?  
  
“Iwaizumi,” the man says quietly, startling Oikawa.  
  
Oh. Had he been mumbling that out loud?  
  
Oikawa blinks and gives a small nod, tries out the taste of the name on his tongue. Iwaizumi. I-wa-zu-mi. Iwa-zu-mi.  
  
It’s hard to say for some reason and he fumbles over it and frowns, lets out a little noise of frustration because his mouth doesn’t want to process it correctly. He huffs and then blinks when Iwaizumi lets out a quiet sigh.  
  
“Iwa is fine,” the man tells him, the smallest grumble in his voice.  
  
Oikawa almost smiles a little, feels his lashes drop and his body soften.  
  
“Iwa-chan,” he murmurs.  
  
Iwaizumi blinks and takes a deep breath, tilts his head back and takes one long drag of the cigarette and blows the smoke up toward the ceiling before dropping his head down again.  
  
“No,” Iwaizumi says flatly.  
  
Oikawa huffs, feels his face screw up into a little pout. Iwaizumi almost looks amused now, his lips curling into the faintest little smile.  
  
“Where’s Koushi?” Oikawa asks, voice whiny even to his own ears.  
  
“The kitchen,” Iwaizumi tells him. “He’s making dinner with Kyou.”  
  
Kyou? Oikawa blinks at the name and frowns a little bit, realizes that Kyou must mean the scary blonde, the puppy. Why does Suga call him that? It’s so puzzling and he wants to ask Iwaizumi but there’s a soft touch to his forehead that distracts him, Iwaizumi pressing the back of his hand to it with a frown.  
  
“You’re warm,” Iwaizumi says with a little sigh. “Do you feel sick?”  
  
Now that the question has been asked, Oikawa does recognize he feels a bit gross. Tired. A little bit achey. His throat hurts a little. His stomach isn’t quite settled.  
  
He’s mostly tired, though, and sort of wants to just to go back to sleep or stare out at the rain still sliding down the windowed walls.  
  
“Oikawa?”  
  
Oikawa blinks at the sound of his name, blinks again when Iwaizumi’s hand wanders from his forehead to his cheek. Iwaizumi pets at it a little with his knuckles, the backs of his fingers. It’s cool against him and Oikawa finds himself closing his eyes, leaning into Iwaizumi’s touch just a bit.  
  
It’s gentle. It’s nice.  
  
He waits for it to change, waits for the hand to haul back and slap across his face. But it doesn’t. It just stay soft against him, gentle and relaxing.  
  
“Oikawa? You okay?”  
  
Oikawa lets his eyes flutter open open, stares quietly at frowning lips and concerned eyes. He gives a little nod and lets his eyes drift back close.  
  
“Yeah. I’m okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He'll be _fine._
> 
> Come say hi and hello on [my tumblr](https://moramew.tumblr.com/)~


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter just...  
> It's a chapter.
> 
> Content warnings: mild panic attacks, accidental drug use

_Suffocating. He’s suffocating. Something is choking him and he can’t breathe and everything is too warm and-  
  
_ Suga wakes up with a start and shakes, panics when he feels something pressing down on his chest and swallows back a scream. He’s only able to keep himself from clawing out at the _thing_ when he hears a sleepy murmur of “Kou-chan” in his ear.  
  
Oikawa.  
  
Suga takes a shaky, stuttered breath and closes his eyes, forces himself to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth until he stops whimpering and can scoot out from underneath Oikawa’s arm without being rough about it and risk waking him up.  
  
Oikawa needs his sleep and Suga isn’t sure he can talk to him without screaming.  
  
Suga swallows as he looks down at Oikawa, bites his lip and tries very, very hard not to cry because his skin still feels too hot and tight and like maggots are wriggling just beneath the surface.  
  
He’s _awful_. He’s so awful but having Oikawa cling to him in his sleep makes him want to claw at his neck because it _chokes_ him and he can’t _breathe_ and he _loves_ Oikawa but feeling him against him makes Suga want to cry sometimes because sometimes it’s okay but then suddenly it’s too much and it makes his skin crawl and-  
  
Suga bites his inner cheek to calm his rising panic and hugs himself, forces a few gulps of air as he turns on his heel and walks out of the bedroom.  
  
He just needs a moment to himself. It’s fine. It’s okay. Oikawa is safe. Suga _knows_ that. He can trust him not to touch him anyway he doesn’t want.  
  
Knowing it doesn’t keep him from wanting to sob at the lingering sensation of being held.  
  
Suga shudders and walks into the bathroom, takes a deep breath and tries to calm down.  
  
It’s been...three? four? weeks since they’ve been plucked up from hell and plopped into the penthouse and he _still_ wants to whimper at the most random touches. He’s _pathetic_. He’s so fucking _pathetic_. He should be over this. He should be okay. Why is he so weak?  
  
Suga angrily scrubs at his face and grimaces at the sheen of sweat on it. He’s disgusting.  
  
Suga takes a deep breath and moves to turn on the shower, flicks the water up nice and boiling before beginning to strip out of too big clothes. He’s careful not to glance in the mirror, careful to not catch a glimpse of scars and fading burn marks and the scratches raked down his arms from trying to keep himself from flying to pieces.  
  
Even if he’s out of clothes lightly drenched in sweat, Suga somehow feels even more uncomfortable being nude. He feels naked in more ways than one and he _hates_ it.  
  
He wishes he could just get clean without getting naked.  
  
When he steps into the shower, the water burns against his skin and Suga flinches but makes no move to turn the temperature down to something a little bit more bearable.  
  
These days he doesn’t feel like he gets clean if the water isn’t scalding.  
  
Suga washes his hair first and ends up huffing to himself because he doesn’t want to enjoy the scent of the shampoo, the conditioner. It’s a weird scent, something vaguely metallic and minty at the same time, and he doesn’t _want_ to like it because it’s _their_ shampoo and liking it feels like a betrayal to himself somehow.  
  
But he _does_ like it and it smells nice, comforting in some unexpected away.  
  
He refuses to tell anyone that he enjoys it.  
  
Suga washes his hair for far longer than he needs to and washes it again when he’s finished with that particular part of the shower routine. And then he stands still for even longer, head tilted back and eyes closed as he tries to forces himself to start washing off his body.  
  
He doesn’t want to touch himself.  
  
In some small way that makes him feel better about freaking out over Oikawa touching him, snuggling up close to him. He’s frustrated as hell that he’s like this but if he can’t even handle his own touch then it’s not as bad that he can’t handle his boyfriend’s.  
  
Or. Former boyfriend’s. He still doesn’t know about that, what to even say they are. And that _hurts_. That hurts and stings so, so much. But, at the same time, it feels so insignificant as well compared to everything else going on.  
  
Suga sighs and grinds the heels of his palms against his eyes, shakes off those thoughts.  
  
It’s not important.  
  
Suga forces himself to reach over to the body wash- something that smells fresh and minty as well- and reluctantly begins to wash himself.  
  
Once he starts, he wants to gag but he also flicks into some sort of desperation and scrubs frantically at his skin, scrubs until everything is raw and he’s flinching from the pain.  
  
It’s only when he spots a dot of blood on his arm that he stops.  
  
Frustration whips through him and he angrily throws the little loofah he’d been grinding and scraping against his skin down on the floor of the tub.  
  
Why is he like this?  
  
Angry little tears spring up in his eyes and he swipes at them, ducks his head under the quickly cooling stream of water and lets all the suds wash off.  
  
He feels way too vulnerable once he shuts off the water and steps out of the shower. Suga quickly pats his body dry and pulls on the dirty clothes, cringes and berates himself for not bringing a change with him.  
  
He hurries to the guest bedroom and drops to his knees near the laundry basket full of clothes Iwaizumi had given to them to wear and plucks out fresh ones immediately. He still loathes that he has to wear _their_ clothes. He still loathes that some disloyal part of him is _relieved_ to wear their clothes because they’re too big and they swallow him up and help him feel more hidden, safe.  
  
It’s such a stupid thing, he thinks as he tugs on a hoodie in frustration. It’s such a stupid, stupid thing. He shouldn’t feel safe in their clothes. He shouldn’t feel safe at all. They’re fucking murderers for hire.  
  
Suga grits his teeth as he steps into the sweatpants he had nabbed, scowls over the fact that it gives just a smidge of instant relief to him.  
  
He’s so angry with himself for relaxing. He shouldn’t be relaxing. He shouldn’t be getting _used_ to all this.  
  
Suga grits his teeth a little tighter and takes a deep, deep breath to try to rein his anger in before he gets worked up and frustrated and starts pacing around the room. He’ll wake up Oikawa if he does that and Oikawa needs rest.  
  
He leaves the room instead of pacing, walks as lightly as he can instead of stomping like he wants.  
  
There’s the smell of coffee floating down the corridor now.  
  
_Great_. One of them- worse, _both_ of them- is- are- awake.  
  
He closes his eyes and stands still in the hallway for a moment, tries to decide if he wants to suffer through company or if he wants to turn back and hide in the room.  
  
It’s when he catches the scent of bacon that his will breaks and he finds his feet padding toward the kitchen even if his mind is rebelling against the thought of having to talk to anyone.  
  
When he peeks into the room, he finds Iwaizumi standing in front of the stove. He’s shirtless, got a cigarette hanging between his lips, and his sweatpants are hanging way too low on his hips. Suga can spot bite marks on his sides and scratch marks down his back and flinches at the sight, looks away before his mind decides to flashback to whiskey breath and men who laugh at the word “no.”  
  
He steps back from the entrance and takes a little breath, tries to beat back the nervous energy welling up and overtaking all the frustration that had been coursing through him just a minute before.  
  
Okay. It’s Green Eyes. Iwaizumi. Suga can handle that one without getting too freaked out and angry. He can bite his tongue and be docile like he had promised he would be.  
  
Or try, at least.  
  
He takes another breath and quietly creeps into the kitchen, digs his nails into his palm when Iwaizumi glances over at him so he doesn’t flinch.  
  
“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” the man asks.  
  
“Shouldn’t you?” Suga snaps back automatically. Iwaizumi frowns a little and Suga tries not to huff, bites the inside of his cheek and tells himself to be civil. “I woke up. Can’t go back to sleep.”  
  
Iwaizumi eyes him, takes a drag of his cigarette and turns back to the stove to poke at the bacon.  
  
“You want some of this?” he asks.  
  
“Yeah, sure,” Suga tells him, walking toward the island to sit down. He takes a little breath and then adds on a begrudging little, “Please.”  
  
Iwaizumi just hums in response and reaches over to throw more bacon in the pan.  
  
Suga rests his forehead against his palm and tries to resist the urge to walk out of the room and crawl into bed again.  
  
He can’t do that. He needs to _try_. If he can just- if he can just be nice and get them to like him, like Oikawa then things will be easier, right? It’ll ensure their tentative shelter, the guardianship of calculated killers. He doesn’t _want_ to be nice and his skin still crawls from being in this place but- _god_. He just- he _has_ to keep Oikawa safe. And safe right now is this penthouse.  
  
So he has to try.  
  
Even if trying makes him want punch himself in the face.  
  
He takes a quiet breath, moves so his cheek is resting against his fist and watches Iwaizumi scoot some bacon from the pan to a plate.  
  
Something in him squirms when he looks over Iwaizumi’s back and takes in his tattoo for the first time without anything obscuring it.  
  
It’s just…it’s so big and it’s _pretty_. Suga doesn’t _want_ to admire it or like it but it’s _captivating_. The artist in him wants to walk up behind Iwaizumi, study it up close. It’s the ace of spades, done up so breathtakingly ornate and wrapped in leafy, thorny vines inked in turquoise. The bright ink is startling against the black and- no matter how badly he wants to deny it- it’s just _pretty_.  
  
Suga absolutely _hates_ that there’s the urge to run his fingers over the curling patterns, caress over and study the spaces where tan flesh peeks out in little mesmerizing twists throughout jet black.  
  
He huffs to himself and glares down at the counter, refuses to glance up when he hears Iwaizumi moving around. He jumps a little when a coffee mug is pushed into his sight, grumbles a “thanks” and notices that there’s cream and sugar in it.  
  
It pricks at him that he’s been there long enough that Iwaizumi has noticed how he likes his coffee. It pricks at him that Iwaizumi is probably trying to be kind to him. It pricks at him that for some reason it makes him want to cry, just a little.  
  
He’s a fucking mess.  
  
Suga drags the coffee mug toward him and takes a drink to distract himself, keeps his eyes on the counter and just tries to keep himself composed.  
  
He feels exhausted suddenly.  
  
There’s quiet for a few moments and then a clearing of a throat. Suga keeps his eyes on the counter and waits to see what Iwaizumi wants.  
  
“You two need to go to the clinic.”  
  
Suga takes a deep breath from his nose and breathes it out through his mouth, tries his very hardest not to snap a “fuck you” to Iwaizumi.  
  
Again. He’s saying this _again_.  
  
It’s been, what, the third time he’s brought it up in...god Suga doesn’t even know. Time has been so blurred since they were plucked up and placed into the penthouse. He thinks it’s been maybe...three weeks? four? since they came here. Three at the least.  
  
Which seems so surreal. He feels like he’s been in the penthouse for _ages_ now, feels like his days have always been filled with holing up in a bedroom with Oikawa and snapping and snarling at Kyoutani and Iwaizumi. Some days it feels like Kuma and everything never even happened, that he and Oikawa just popped into the penthouse and into existence without anything else happening.  
  
Which is fucking ridiculous. Because it _did_ happen and every time that stupid feeling decides to wash over him, every time he wants to pretend that _it_ didn’t happen he gets a brutal reminder that it _did_. Changing clothes and seeing the scars on his body is a slap in the face, something to jerk him back to reality. The nightmares that plague him when he _does_ manage to sleep are like being tossed into a lake in the middle of winter. The flashbacks are just- _god_ he doesn’t even have anything to compare them to. They’re just _bad_ and he _hates_ them and he wishes he could just forget everything.  
  
He feels like the most vile piece of shit when bitterness makes him wish he was in Oikawa’s place, that he was the one out of it and being watched over.  
  
“Sugawara?”  
  
Suga grips his coffee mug tighter so he doesn’t flinch at the sound of his name and looks over at Iwaizumi, takes in the mild look of concern on his face and the bite mark on his neck. It’s fresh and Suga has to wonder if he always carries Kyoutani’s marks or if it’s something new that’s cropped up since he and Oikawa have become reluctant roommates with the hitmen. Marking territory perhaps?  
  
The thought almost makes him snort in amusement and he flicks his gaze back to his coffee, scrubs at his face tiredly.  
  
As if he’d have any interest in either of them. As if he’ll have any interest in anyone ever again. As if he’ll ever be able to be touched by anyone again when the slightest brush of someone’s hand against him makes him want to scream, lash out. He can only handle Oikawa’s touch and even that is almost too much to bear sometimes, makes his skin feel too tight and unwanted.  
  
It’s really hard trying not to cry thinking about that.  
  
“You there?”  
  
Suga flinches when Iwaizumi taps the counter right in front of him to grab his attention, gets angry when relief washes over him because Iwaizumi opted for that and not snapping his fingers in his face or trying to touch him.  
  
He shouldn’t be like this.  
  
Suga takes a deep breath and lifts his head, looks at Iwaizumi dully.  
  
“Sorry. What was that?” he asks, inwardly cringing when he hears how exhausted he sounds.  
  
Iwaizumi sighs and rakes a hand through his messy hair, drops the hand down to tap his fingers against the counter. Suga can’t help but watch them, can’t help but stare at little scars on tan digits and a healing scrape across bruised knuckles.  
  
“The clinic,” Iwaizumi says slowly. “You two need to go.”  
  
Oh, right. _That_ again.  
  
Suga swallows a gulp of coffee to hide a yawn and rests his forehead against his fist, shakes his head and closes his eyes.  
  
“No,” Suga tells him quietly. “Not now. He’s not ready to go anywhere yet.”  
  
“That’s what you said last week.”  
  
Suga raises a brow and bats open his eyes, bites back a little huff and gives Iwaizumi a saccharine smile instead.  
  
“Then you should have known that I would say that _this_ week,” he says sweetly, smile dropping as soon as the words are let out. Iwaizumi scowls at him and Suga _does_ huff this time. “He’s not ready.”  
  
“Are you sure it’s not you that’s not ready?” Iwaizumi asks, leaning on the counter and frowning.  
  
Suga glares at him and Iwaizumi pushes back from the counter, raises a hand and rakes it through messy hair.  
  
“He’s been better lately,” Iwaizumi points out, voice almost a bit tired. “And he needs to go. You need to go too.”  
  
Suga flinches, tightens his hold on the coffee mug and tries not to curl in on himself.  
  
He chooses to focus on bitterness over Oikawa’s state rather than the fear that his body is riddled with disease and fucked up beyond all repair.  
  
“Better,” Suga scoffs quietly. “He had a panic attack two days ago because he dropped a bottle of honey and it got on his toes. He’s not _better_.”  
  
“He remembers my name now,” Iwaizumi counters. “He’s talking more clearly.”  
  
“He doesn’t remember the other one’s name,” Suga huffs, not wanting to give an inch to Iwaizumi. He’s right but- _god_. He just- he just doesn’t want to concede to him. “Oikawa just calls him ‘puppy.’”  
  
“That’s _your_ fault,” Iwaizumi tells him with a frown.  
  
Suga almost lets himself smile in petulant satisfaction over that. He has to hide a ghost of a smirk by taking a sip of coffee.  
  
There’s quiet for a moment and then a long sigh. Iwaizumi is eyeing him with a glint of frustration when Suga glances at him, running his hand over his chin and frowning.  
  
“Why are you so against going?” Iwaizumi asks. “Don’t you want to make sure he’s okay? Don’t you want to make sure _you’re_ okay?”  
  
Suga drops his eyes to the counter so Iwaizumi can’t catch the twitch of his brow, the way his eyes want to tighten in fear and repulsion.  
  
No. He doesn’t want to make sure he’s okay. He doesn’t want to see the doctor again. He doesn’t want to be touched and looked over and down upon. He doesn’t want to go outside. It’s _unsafe_ out there and he’s terrified of going out into world where he can be snatched up and tortured. He doesn’t want to know if he’s been diseased. He doesn’t want to have to think about it, reminded that he was used like a plaything and that more men fucked him against his will than he can count on both hands. _He doesn’t want to know.  
  
_ He’s such a fucking coward.  
  
Suga swallows his self-loathing and looks at Iwaizumi instead, bites at his inner cheek and tries not to let his frustration and fear show on his face.  
  
“It’s not going to go over well,” Suga tells him quietly. “He’s going to panic. It’s just going to set him back.”  
  
“You don’t know that,” Iwaizumi insists. “Maybe it will help.”  
  
“I’m pretty sure going to a clinic and having his dick looked over by that _asshole_ is going to be enough to trigger him,” Suga snaps at Iwaizumi, sudden anger whipping through him. “He’s going to freak out.”  
  
“So, what? You just want him to have fucking aids and not know about it? You want him to have something and fucking suffer over it?” Iwaizumi retorts. There’s something disgusted in his eyes and Suga reels back, gets angry and tries to snap back something in his defense but gets cut off when Iwaizumi slaps his hand against the counter top. “Don’t make me take you against your will.”  
  
Suga just stares at him. He wants to say something, wants to give reasons why they should push it off, wants to snap about how some part of him is paranoid that Iwaizumi and Kyoutani are just going to take them back to Kuma instead. He can’t say anything with the guilty lump in his throat, though, and just pushes himself from the bar stool so he doesn’t throw the coffee mug in a fit of frustration and fear.  
  
“Where the fuck are you going?” Iwaizumi demands. Suga refuses to look at him, starts walking out of the kitchen. He doesn’t care that he’s stomping this time. “You haven’t ate anything. And we’re not done here.”  
  
“I’m not hungry,” he snaps back over his shoulder.  
  
He stomps all the way back to the guest room and has to force himself to not slam the door shut behind him.  
  
The only thing that keeps him from collapsing on the floor and letting out angry tears is seeing Oikawa curled up in the bed.  
  
He couldn’t handle Oikawa’s touch before but now the need to have him in his arms is overwhelming, frighteningly desperate. He _needs_ to hold him. He _needs_ to feel him in his arms.  
  
Suga climbs back in the bed and pulls Oikawa to him, wraps his arms around a thin frame and buries his head in messy brown hair hair. Oikawa whines in his sleep and Suga has to bite his inner cheek until it drips copper so he doesn’t start bawling and wake up Oikawa.  
  
“You’re okay,” he mutters as he slowly rocks back and forth. “You’re okay.”

* * *

Somehow Suga falls asleep.  
  
Somehow during frustrated inner monologues of him scolding himself and rocking back and forth as he tries not to cry into Oikawa’s hair, he falls asleep. It’s disorientating waking up from sleep naturally and not jerking awake from a nightmare. It’s terrifying waking up and Oikawa not being in bed with him.  
  
He panics and sits up, whips his head to look around the room and tries to swallow some breaths.  
  
It’s okay, he tells himself. Oikawa probably just went to the bathroom. He’s not gone. Nothing happened to him. He’s fine. He’s fine. He’s fi-  
  
Suga bolts out of bed and out of the room.  
  
Almost immediately he hears Oikawa’s voice floating down the hall and has to shoot his arm out to brace himself against the wall so he doesn’t fall to his knees in relief.  
  
God, _fuck_.  
  
Suga runs his hand through his hair with a frustrated grimace, feels his heart pounding in his chest and tries his best to calm down a little before heading out to Oikawa.  
  
He doesn’t like that Oikawa is alone with them. He doesn’t like that Oikawa is talking to them. And he sure as hell doesn’t like the soft little laugh- Oikawa’s laugh- that drifts down to him.  
  
Why the hell is Oikawa so trusting around them?  
  
Suga’s lips twist into a scowl and he gives himself another few moments to calm his left over anxiety and flared up frustration before walking quietly down the hall. He can smell something cooking and wonders if they’re feeding Oikawa, grits his teeth at the thought.  
  
The thought of someone else taking care of Oikawa sends paranoia crawling through him and something almost like anger flickering in his belly.  
  
Suga takes a deep breath when he steps into the living room and frowns when he sees that it’s raining outside, that grey is filtering into the penthouse and the neon that shines outside the window is dull and blurred by the water.  
  
He’d probably find it aesthetic any other time. Right now it just annoys him. If it starts thundering, Oikawa will be scared.  
  
Suga sighs through his nose and continues on to the kitchen, peeks in and immediately has to bite his cheek so he doesn’t snarl at the sight of Oikawa swinging his feet as he sits perched up on one of the bar stools while he fixes Iwaizumi’s tie and Kyoutani stirs at some kind of soup on the stove.  
  
It’s only Oikawa looking over at him that keeps him from stomping into the kitchen and shoving Iwaizumi away from Oikawa.  
  
Annoyance, frustration, _fury_ rakes through him at the little smile on Oikawa’s face, at the way Iwaizumi looks over at him and raises a brow but stays still. The green eyed man is standing there passively, not touching Oikawa at all but Suga wants to yell at him to get away from Oikawa, to leave him alone.  
  
He doesn’t. He just closes his eyes and takes a deep, deep breath before stepping into the room and walking over to the kitchen island. Iwaizumi backs away as Suga walks up to it and Suga can’t help but glare at him, glare at the hands that move to tighten a dark green tied spliced with slashes of cream.  
  
He can’t believe Oikawa was fixing his tie. What the _fuck_ is wrong with him?  
  
The rush of anger that ripples through him is strong enough, distracting enough that he doesn’t even bat an eye when Oikawa latches onto his hand and smiles brightly, chirps out a, “The puppy is making lunch.”  
  
He just blinks slowly, digs his nails into the palm of his free hand and tries to claw away the umbrage that wants to cloud his senses, his mind.  
  
He should be focusing on the fact that Oikawa is smiling. He should be focusing on the fact that Oikawa is talking without slurring his words. He should be focusing on the fact that he apparently has an appetite when for the past three days getting Oikawa to eat anything has been a fucking chore. Oikawa is having a _good_ day and Suga should be _happy_.  
  
He should be happy but he’s not.  
  
He’s not happy. He’s angry and bitter and disgustingly _jealous_. He’s a _monster_ for the petulant pettiness that rakes through him, for the angry tears that threaten to well up because his mind is telling him that it’s not _fair_ , that he wants to be smiling and having a good day too.  
  
He doesn’t deserve to be happy.  
  
“Iwa-chan, how long will you be gone?”  
  
Suga jerks himself out of his cloud of frustration to glance over at Iwaizumi, catch the annoyed little look on his face.  
  
“I told you not to call me that,” Iwaizumi tells Oikawa gruffly.  
  
Suga catches Oikawa pouting out of the corner of his eye and is torn between being frustrated over Oikawa giving Iwaizumi a nickname and being spitefully pleased over how annoyed it makes the spiky haired man.  
  
“You’re so mean,” Oikawa huffs, giving Suga’s hand a squeeze. “Suga-chan, isn’t he mean?”  
  
“Oh, he’s the worst,” Suga says flatly, staring Iwaizumi down as the man scowls at him. “Where are you going?”  
  
“Work,” Iwaizumi tells him shortly. “Kyou’s in charge. Don’t make trouble.”  
  
“Or what?” Suga asks sweetly, lashes dropping low and lips curling into a honeyed little smile. “Daddy’s going to put us in the naughty corner?”  
  
He’s being an idiot. He knows it. He’s poking at a bear, kicking at the support beams of their shelter. He keeps telling himself to be nice for Oikawa’s sake but that makes him want to hurl and he’s so frustrated and angry with everything and he’s so _sick_ of Iwaizumi pretending that he’s trying to help them without wanting anything in return. He’s so sick of waiting for the other shoe to drop, for a hand to rear up and smack him.  
  
He just wants to get it over with. He wants to take the blow already.  
  
Iwaizumi narrows his eyes at Suga but apparently decides to brush it over. He glances over the top of Suga’s head instead and mutters, “I won’t be gone long. I’ll call you when I’m headed home.”  
  
Suga’s face screws up petulantly when Iwaizumi turns on his heel and walks out of the kitchen.  
  
Why won’t he just drop the act already?  
  
There are a few moments of silence and Suga takes a deep, deep breath before squeezing Oikawa’s hand and forcing a smile. He gently drops Oikawa’s hand so he can turn around and watch Kyoutani at the stove, lets his smile drop when the man turns around to scowl at him.  
  
“What are you making, puppy?” Suga asks, voice flat and sudden exhaustion making him want to lay his head on the counter.  
  
“Roasted cauliflower soup,” Kyoutani grunts out, eyeing him and crossing his arms over his chest. “It’ll be done soon.”  
  
Suga squeezes his eyes shut when he feels Oikawa lean against him, drop his head on his shoulder. It’s not too much, not yet, but lingering frustration is telling him to push Oikawa way, to go hide somewhere until he can cool down and push off all the emotions swirling around in him.  
  
He doesn’t, though. He stays still and lets Oikawa lean against him, nuzzle his shoulder just a little bit.  
  
“The puppy isn’t that bad, Kou-chan,” Oikawa murmurs, warm breath dusting over Suga’s neck. It makes Suga flinch and he swallows hard when Oikawa yawns and more runs over him. “Your food is better, though.”  
  
Satisfaction practically purrs in Suga’s chest at that and he finds himself smirking a little, looking over at Kyoutani with a smug look. The blonde just rolls his eyes and turns back to the stove, stirs the soup and ignores them.  
  
Jackass.  
  
There’s a few minutes of quiet where Suga just watches Kyoutani, pets at the back of Oikawa’s hand with his thumb when the brunette grabs his own again. Somehow it’s easier holding it after Oikawa telling him that his food is better than the blonde’s. He’s not sure what to make of it and he’s not sure he cares to puzzle it over.  
  
The silence is broken when a phone goes off.  
  
Oikawa flinches at the sudden noise, squeezes Suga’s hand so tight that he can feel his bones squish together and ache. The sudden tightness, the sudden clinging makes him almost whimper and shove Oikawa away.  
  
“Shit.”  
  
Suga blanches a little at the muttered curse, scrapes at his knee with his nails through his sweatpants in an effort to keep from curling into himself. Kyoutani ignores him, ignores Oikawa’s little whine and cuts off the ringing by bringing the phone to his ear.  
  
It’s almost a little scary how intense his focus gets when Kyoutani answers the phone. He would almost call it an adrenaline spike with how breathing suddenly gets a bit harder and his heart picks up its quiet pace.  
  
He tries to listen to the conversation, tries to get context as to what Kyoutani is talking about, who he’s talking to. He gets nothing, of course, except having to listen to some little sighs and an annoyed, terse “yeah, I got it.”  
  
The deep breath that Kyoutani takes when he hangs up the phone is almost enough to make Suga visibly flinch.  
  
“I’m going out,” Kyoutani says flatly, unceremoniously. “The soup has about five minutes left.”  
  
He’s...going out.  
  
Panic hits Suga like a freight train and he can’t even work up the energy to be angry at himself for it because Kyoutani is going out and he and Oikawa are going to be all alone and it’s the first time they’ve been alone in the penthouse and what if something happens to them and what if someone breaks in and tries to take them and what if-  
  
Suga swallows a whimper and his fear and squeezes Oikawa’s hand tight as he stares at Kyoutani.  
  
“Wha-what do you mean you’re going out?” he demands, voice a little shaky. “Where are you going? You’re going to leave us here all by ourselves?”  
  
Kyoutani raises a brow and gives a nod, starts moving to walk out of the kitchen.  
  
Panic whips into frustration then, something nearly bratty. There’s the urge to bark out a “fine” but he takes a deep breath instead, tries to get a hold of himself.  
  
He’s too emotional today. He needs to watch himself.  
  
At his side Oikawa gives another whine and Suga breathes deeply, slowly. He turns his head to smile at Oikawa and brings his free hand up to Oikawa face, cups his cheek and smiles at him.  
  
“It’s fine, Tooru,” he tells him. “We’ll be fine. How about I start putting things together for lunch? What do you want to drink with the soup?”  
  
Oikawa frowns and squirms a little on the bar stool, looks over at the fridge and then to Suga once more.  
  
“Water,” he mumbles.  
  
“Okay, Tooru,” Suga says softly, petting at his cheek with his thumb. “We can eat in the living room and watch something nice once the puppy leaves. You want to watch Cosmos?”  
  
Chocolate eyes lift to caramel with sudden brightness and Oikawa sniffles, nods and leans into Suga’s touch. Suga hums and pets at Oikawa’s cheek for a few more moments, tries his very hardest to channel his emotions into concern over taking care of Oikawa instead of randomly flickering back and forth between anger and anxiety.  
  
“Okay, Tooru,” he says quietly. “You sit tight. I’ll take care of you.”  
  
Oikawa whimpers but nods and Suga has to bite his lip when Oikawa’s expression turns hazy, a little lost.  
  
He really hopes Oikawa’s good day isn’t about to shift into a bad one.  
  
Suga takes a deep breath and moves away, walks to stir at the soup and then heads over to the fridge to pluck out a bottle of water.  
  
He’s still waiting for one of them to grab him by his hair and send his head smashing against the counter for taking food.  
  
Suga checks the impulse to shudder and turns to Oikawa instead, smiles at him and offer him the bottle of water. Oikawa’s hands shake when he reaches for it but he manages to open it without help and Suga has to swallow a sigh of relief.  
  
How could he have been so petty and angry earlier for Oikawa having a good day when they’ve been so, so rare?  
  
Idiot. He’s such an _idiot_.  
  
Suga smiles at Oikawa encouragingly when Oikawa glances up at him and reaches over to pat at his hand before moving back to the stove.  
  
The pale yellow of the soup makes him grip at the counter so he doesn’t sway.  
  
He tries his best to look at it as little as possible as he stirs the soup, reaches over to turn off the burner. He makes a bowl for Oikawa as quickly as possible and has to force himself to put it down slowly so he doesn’t let it drop to the counter and make a mess.  
  
He gags when Oikawa lifts a spoonful to his mouth.  
  
“You’re not eating?”  
  
Suga jumps at the sudden voice and turns around to look at Kyoutani standing in the doorway. He’s in half a suit now, too, like Iwaizumi was before and Suga tries very, very hard not to stare at the leather straps wrapped around his shoulders, the guns resting in holsters.  
  
Kyoutani is leaving the penthouse so he can murder someone and that realization makes Suga almost dizzy with something he can’t name.  
  
“I don’t know when I’ll be back,” Kyoutani tells him, making Suga shake his head to try to focus his attention. “Don’t leave. Don’t make a mess. Don’t snoop around.”  
  
Some irritation slithers through Suga at that but, really, he’s exhausted and there’s been too many emotions in too little time. So he just gives a little sneer, makes Kyoutani narrow his eyes at him. On the other side of the island, Oikawa lets out an anxious little noise and Suga sighs mentally, guiltily wishes and hopes that Oikawa will fall asleep soon after he eats.  
  
“No opening the door to anyone either,” Kyoutani adds with a frown. “No trying to contact anyone.”  
  
“We’re not idiots,” Suga snaps irritably. “We can take care of ourselves.”  
  
The scoff on Kyoutani’s face makes Suga want to snatch the bowl of soup from Oikawa and throw it at the blonde.  
  
Kyoutani leaves before Suga can say anything else and Suga just stands there quietly until he hears the front door open and close.  
  
They’re really all alone now.  
  
He bites his lip when Oikawa lets out a nervous “Koushi,” turns to him and forces a small smile. Oikawa’s eyes are locked on the kitchen door frame, a worried little look on his face.  
  
“Was that….was that a gun?” Oikawa asks quietly.  
  
Fuck.  
  
Suga tries to soften his smile a little bit, moves over to Oikawa’s side of the island and gently touches at his knee.  
  
“Do you still want to sit in the living room and watch Cosmos?” he asks, gingerly trying to distract Oikawa.  
  
Oikawa frowns a little, something almost bewildered crossing his face before he gives a small nod. Suga lets himself smile in relief and lightly pats Oikawa on the knee.  
  
“Okay. I’ll go set it up then,” Suga tells him. “You come in whenever you’re ready.”  
  
Oikawa nods, his face all crumpled up and distressed, and Suga smiles at him a bit wider before turning around to walk into the living room.  
  
His smile immediately drops as soon as his back is to Oikawa.  
  
He’s going to strangle Kyoutani in his sleep if seeing the guns set back Oikawa.  
  
Suga scowls to himself as he hunts for the remote, flicks on the tv when he finds it and flinches at the sudden noise. He turns it down as low as he can without the sound becoming indiscernible and then settles himself on the couch, begins to pull up the show and prays that Oikawa will settle down peacefully, will eat and then curl up for a nap.  
  
He’s terrible for wanting Oikawa to sleep just so he can curl up and have his own little cry.  
  
Suga takes a deep breath through his nose and then raises his head to smile at Oikawa when he hears quiet footsteps. Oikawa very, very carefully walks over to the couch and sits next to Suga, whines softly for him to shift so he can lean against his chest while they watch the show. Suga obliges, of course, and very pointedly refuses to look down into Oikawa’s bowl, very lightly presses a kiss to the top of Oikawa’s head and lets himself imagine that they’re back in his dorm, lets himself pretend that none of this bullshit ever happened.  
  
“You ready, Tooru?” he asks softly. He feels Oikawa nod against his chest and unpauses the show, takes a deep breath and tries to settle down. “Let’s learn about the stars.”

* * *

Watching Cosmos was a bad idea.  
  
It was okay, at first. Even a little relaxing. Oikawa seemed happy and once he finished his soup he snuggled up properly with Suga, let Suga wrap his arms around him and gently rub his shoulder, drop soft little kisses to the top of his head. It was nice, cozy. He didn’t feel like flinching away or wanting to scream and it was just nice. Comfortable. Nostalgic of better times.  
  
It completely went to hell after the second episode, when the third started playing.  
  
Suga didn’t notice Oikawa tensing up at first. And when he did finally notice, it was already too late to stop the frustrated noise that escaped Oikawa, the way he sat up straight on the couch without warning and started pulling at his hair.  
  
_“Why can’t I remember? I learned this in class. I should know this. I want to go back to school. I miss my friends.”  
  
_ It was chaos after Oikawa angrily hissed that out, tugging at his hair and shaking. Sobbing, bowl throwing chaos. He scratched at Suga when Suga tried to touch his shoulder, screamed and picked up his empty bowl to throw it at the wall. And then he just collapsed on the floor, rocking back and forth and sobbing and refusing to let Suga go to him.  
  
In the middle of it all, Oikawa glared at him and hissed out that it was all his fault that he couldn’t remember anymore, to stay away from him.  
  
Suga couldn’t do anything but drop his head, choke out an “I know. I’m sorry.”  
  
And that just made things worse because Oikawa started crying harder almost immediately after and began sobbing that he was sorry, he didn’t mean it, that he loved him still. He crawled over to Suga and wrapped his arms around his legs and begged him not to leave him, begged him not to _abandon_ him.  
  
There are really no words to describe how that made Suga feel. No words to describe the piercing bitterness, the anger, the frustration, how his heart felt like it got ripped out his chest and shredded to the tiniest pieces.  
  
He still doesn’t know how he managed to keep from breaking down along with Oikawa. All he had been able to do was drop to the floor and hold Oikawa tight, rock him back and forth in his arms until the frantic sobbing devolved into the softest of whimpers.  
  
Oikawa was so pliant then, let Suga lead him to the bedroom and tuck him in for a nap. He had stayed until Oikawa fell asleep and then slipped out of the room, holed up in the corner of the kitchen and sobbed until he was sick.  
  
It really was his fault that all this happened.  
  
At some point, once his tears have been bled out, he’s able to pick himself up off the floor. He’s got a headache after all of that, a splash of vomit drying to his cheek and chin.  
  
He grabs a dishtowel hanging from the handle of a nearby drawer down and swipes at his cheek, cleans himself dully. He needs to clean up before either Iwaizumi or Kyoutani get back but his hands won’t stop shaking and his stomach is cramping with hunger pains.  
  
He really doesn’t want to eat anything.  
  
Suga forces himself to turn around on the spot, open up the fridge and look at his options listlessly. Nothing looks good at all and he knows he’s just going to probably throw it up again later.  
  
He settles on a brownie he spots in a sealed tupperware container. It’s tiny and it’ll tide him over until he pulls himself out of his mire.  
  
It smells weird, though, when he takes it out of the container and he frowns at it, hesitates over whether or not he wants to eat it or not.  
  
It’s only when he realizes he can’t remember the last time he had chocolate that he shoves it into his mouth.  
  
It’s disappointingly awful.  
  
Somehow the let down of it makes Suga want to cry again but he stubbornly polishes off the sub-par dessert, forces himself to stand up and kick the fridge shut.  
  
Now he just has to clean.  
  
He finds the cleaning supplies under the kitchen sink and wipes up his vomit with a cringe, nearly vomits again as it seep through the paper towel and touches his palm.  
  
He scrubs his hands raw after he tosses the used up paper towels in the trash.  
  
After swiping us his sick, he carefully picks up the shattered pieces of the bowl.  
  
It feels like a victory when he’s able to keep from sniffling when one of the shards slices open his finger.  
  
He sucks the blood off his digit and carefully tosses the pieces in the trash, decides not to say a word about it to Kyoutani or Iwaizumi. They don’t need to know about it.  
  
After that Suga is just...kind of lost.  
  
He doesn’t know what to do and Oikawa is asleep and he’s all alone. He feels uncertain, unsure over whether he should curl up with Oikawa or do something else.  
  
He really doesn’t deserve to lay beside Oikawa.  
  
Suga takes a shaky little breath, hugs himself and decides to try to watch tv to calm himself down. He curls up on the couch and hugs a pillow on his chest, flips through the channels until he finds a cooking show to watch.  
  
He’s tense as he lays there, fighting with his paranoia over whether Oikawa is okay or not, if he should check up on him. Suga scolds himself, tells himself that he needs to leave Oikawa alone and ends up picking over tired, guilty thoughts instead even if he tries to push them away.  
  
But slowly, ever so slowly, he’s able to let himself loosen up, uncoil from his tense state as he watches a lady with a too big smile make a lemon chiffon cake from scratch.  
  
It’s about halfway through the next show, when he’s watching a man carefully chop up onions to toss into a pasta sauce, that Suga realizes he’s actually kind of _relaxed_ , almost soft as he watches the show through half-shut eyes.  
  
He’s not really sure why or how he got to this state but he’s grateful for it and doesn’t try to fight it at all.  
  
He blinks heavily and glances out of the window faced wall, takes in the sight of fat raindrops rolling down the panes and the clouds blotting out the sun and muting everything with soft greys.  
  
Maybe it’s the rain, he muses idly. Or maybe he’s crashing from emotional exhaustion. Who knows?  
  
Suga lies still for a few moments before slowly getting to his feet. He’s hungry now and he wants the leftover soba he had spotted in the fridge earlier.  
  
He stumbles a little as he walks and frowns at the light dizziness, the sudden off balance of his equilibrium.  
  
He’s just tired, he tells himself.  
  
He manages to walk into the kitchen without falling all over himself and yanks the door to the fridge open so he can snap up the little tupperware container filled with the soba he craves. After a moment’s thought, he grabs the bottle of ketchup as well.  
  
He doesn’t know why but ketchup on soba sounds absolutely _amazing_ to him.  
  
Suga catches himself actually humming a little bit as he waits for the food to heat up in the microwave and startles himself back to silence, jumps when the microwave goes off and laughs quietly to himself.  
  
He feels...weird. Relaxed and giggly and just kind of...loosey goosey?  
  
He doesn’t know how he’s feeling, really, but he’s not going to question it. Who knows when he’s going to be able to laugh again and it not be bitter or sarcastic?  
  
Suga greedily dives into his bounty once it’s ready and moans quietly over the taste. It’s _so fucking good_ and he’s pretty sure he could devour it for the rest of his life.  
  
He swallows down a few large bites and feels himself grin almost drunkenly, hums and turns to walk out of the kitchen and back to the living room. He gets distracted when he glances down the hall and notices the door that he’s learned belongs to the office is open. Had it been open before he herded Oikawa to their room to lay down?  
  
Puzzled, Suga pads quietly down the hall and tries his best to keep eating the soba even it’s a little tricky walking and consuming at the same time. One of the noodles he slurps rears up and whacks him in the nose, makes him snort and laugh to himself.  
  
He stumbles into the office and isn’t really able to stop laughing, finds himself collapsing into the computer chair and setting his food down so he can press his hand to his mouth and muffle the chuckles and giggles and snorts.  
  
He’s probably losing it.  
  
He can’t seem to care, though, and laughs until his sides ache gently and little tears well up in his eyes. Suga gives one last laugh and swipes at his eyes, finds himself smiling a little bit and picking up his soba once more. He takes a bite before looking around the room curiously, eyeing the space for the first time.  
  
It’s not a bad office, he thinks. Ugly, yes. But not _bad_. He doesn’t like how plain it is, how the feature walls are an uninspired, boring beige.  
  
He lazily wonders how much trouble he would get in if he doodled a little mural on one of the walls.  
  
It’s not worth finding out, though, and Suga huffs to himself before spinning in the computer chair. When he slows to halt, he groans a little at the dizziness that winds through him but then perks up a little when he spots a small canister holding some pens, a stack of printer paper beside it.  
  
Without thinking he grabs a few sheets and the canister, stumbles out of the office and back to the kitchen, soba forgotten. He wants shrimp chips now and he’s pretty sure he spotted them in one of the cabinets the day before.  
  
It’s incredibly satisfying when he finds them and he fumbles his way back to the living room, flops himself onto the floor and begins to draw.  
  
It feels like ages since he’s drawn anything and it _has_ been ages, really. But somehow he’s less bitter about it than expected, just a bit dreamy and sleepy as he doodles a raven and then a snake, a tiny and rough sketch of the view outside the window.  
  
It’s so relaxing and so different from how he’s felt for the last- god, who knows how long, really?- little bit and he finds his lids growing heavy, his hand slowing as his mind drifts. He ends up abandoning his doodling in favor of dragging a pillow and blanket from the couch over to the window wall. Suga makes himself nice and cozy, leans against the wall that intersects with it and stares quietly out the window, observes the cars speeding down through the streets below, the sea of umbrellas, and the softened neon lights.  
  
He just feels so _dreamy_ , so honeyed and cozy. It’s almost a little scary to feel like this but he just can’t find the energy to care and lets himself drift deeper into bliss, blank out and let his mind be free of all his worries and fears for once.  
  
Suga doesn’t really deserve it but he just wants to relish this mood swing, this languid time seeped in soothing gray and wrapped in worn wool. He feels...good. For the first time in a long time he feels good and it makes him feel a bit guilty but he’s been so exhausted by the whiplash of emotions lately and he just- he just wants to be able to be calm, just for a little bit.  
  
And he is calm. He’s calm and sleepy and he drifts into a hazy little state, nods off a bit as he watches the world pass by below.  
  
He doesn’t realize he’s fallen into a half-sleep until there’s a sudden touch to his cheek, an uncertain “Sugawara?”  
  
Suga jerks a little, lets his eyes flutter open slowly. They feel so heavy and he feels so snug and sleepy wrapped up in the blanket, wants to let his eyes shut again and drift off.  
  
He doesn’t, though, and just blinks heavily at he stares into green eyes, lets his gaze roam over a fresh cut to Iwaizumi’s cheek and rough lips plumped up with bruises. He yawns quietly and blinks a few more times, almost smiles before he catches himself.  
  
“Iwa-chan is back,” he sings out, hearing his voice drip with drowsiness and trill in misplaced amusement.  
  
Iwaizumi’s brow creases and for some reason it just looks so _funny_ to Suga. He laughs without meaning to, doesn’t really stop even when Iwaizumi frowns and presses a hand to his forehead.  
  
“What the hell is wrong with you?” the man mutters.  
  
He’s probably talking to himself but Suga can’t help give one last laugh, grin lazily.  
  
“I didn’t know it was a crime to laugh, Iwa-chan,” he coos. The hand on his forehead moves to cup his face and he whines petulantly when Iwaizumi leans a bit closer, fully pries his left eye open and peers into it. “What? You got an eye fetish?”  
  
“Are you ever _not_ a sassy little shit?” Iwaizumi grumbles, pulling back after a moment and fixing Suga with a stern look. Suga sticks his tongue out at him and Iwaizumi just sighs, rakes a hand through his hair. “Your eyes are red as hell. What’ve you been into?”  
  
“Nothin’,” Suga tells him. Iwaizumi’s brow arches in what Suga can only interpret as disbelief and Suga huffs. “I haven’t _done_ anything. Can’t a guy just rest?”  
  
“Not if it’s you,” Iwaizumi mutters, sighing and leaning back on his haunches. “Ken? Come here.”  
  
Ken? Who the hell is Ken?  
  
Suga frowns in confusion and looks to the side, tilts his head when Kyoutani walks over and crouches down in front of him.  
  
“I thought your name was Kyoutani?” Suga mumbles, puzzled.  
  
Kyoutani ignores him and eyes him, frowns a little bit. He looks tired to Suga, a little blurry but somehow a bit sharp at the same time. There’s a bit of dried blood crusted in a thin line on his bottom lip and Suga blinks at it, idly wonders where it came from.  
  
“Did you eat the brownie in the fridge?” Kyoutani asks after a moment, voice gruff.  
  
Suga blinks and tries to remember if he did or not. All he can really remember is the taste of soba, the crunch of the shrimp chips in his mouth. He does vaguely remember the brownie, vaguely remembers how earlier was so, so awful and lets out a little whine because he doesn’t _want_ to remember. He wants to stay in his nice little cocoon of peace and float around in quiet tranquility.  
  
He also really, really wants a bucket of mango slices dusted with chili powder to stuff his face with.  
  
But that’s beside the point.  
  
“Sugawara?” Iwaizumi asks, getting Suga’s attention again. “Did you eat it?”  
  
Suga blinks slowly and then huffs, pulls the blanket around him tighter and lets his face screw up in petulance.  
  
“It was gross,” he grumbles, refusing to feel guilty over it. “You guys are shit at making brownies.”  
  
There’s a moment of silence and then a groan, Iwaizumi raking his hand through his hair and glaring over at Kyoutani. Suga doesn’t know _why_ Iwaizumi is glaring at his partner but takes wicked delight in it, snuggles back against his pillow smugly.  
  
Ha. He didn’t get in trouble.  
  
“Okay,” Iwaizumi says quietly. “Why don’t you go to bed?”  
  
“You go to bed,” Sugawara shoots back.  
  
“Oh my god,” Kyoutani grumbles. Suga sticks his tongue out at him and watches the blonde take a deep breath, stand up and frown. “I’m not dealing with this. I need a drink.”  
  
“Kyou- god _dammit_.”  
  
Suga watches as Iwaizumi almost seems to droop a little before taking a deep breath and standing to look down at Suga.  
  
“Get to bed,” Iwaizumi tells him. “I’m sure Oikawa is going to be upset if he wakes up and you’re not there.”  
  
Oikawa.  
  
Oh. Oh. He had forgotten about Oikawa.  
  
Suga swallows guiltily and stumbles to his feet, shakes his head a little when dizziness swirls through him and tries not to fall over himself. There’s another sigh from Iwaizumi but Suga ignores him, moving instead to snatch up the bag of chips from the floor and stuffing his face with a handful before tottering toward the guest bedroom.  
  
It’s a relief to find Oikawa curled up and resting in the bed and Suga polishes off the rest of the chips before worming his way under the covers and snuggling up to the brunette.  
  
He feels so sleepy again once he feels Oikawa’s body against his.  
  
Suga hums softly and carefully hooks a leg over Oikawa’s waist, clings to him lightly. Oikawa mumbles in his sleep and starts to shuffle around and it’s such a pleasant surprise when his arms wrap around Suga, when the brunette nuzzles against him.  
  
He feels safe. He feels soft. He feels almost...pleased. Almost happy. Or as close to it as he can get.  
  
For the first time in over two months, Suga drifts off to sleep with a smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be completely honest and tell y'all that this was an unplanned chapter and it totally just took on a life of its own and ran away from me. I desperately tried to drag it back on track but it was too strong and I was too weak.
> 
> Don't worry. Next week we're back to normal.
> 
> Come say hi and hello on [my tumblr](https://moramew.tumblr.com/)~


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: drugs, non-consensual drug use, panic attacks, improper handling of a panic attack

Sugawara is still fucking high.

It’s been about three hours since Kyoutani’s been back home. He’s about half-drunk from the whiskey that he’s thrown back and he’s still minorly pissed that their last fucking brownie was unknowingly devoured by the artist, still aching from where some fuck had broken a goddamn chair over his back.

He’s tired and he’s annoyed and he wants to be left alone. Iwaizumi fucked off to the office a while ago and Kyoutani’s been trying to veg out with a beer and video games.

The keyword is trying. Sugawara wandered in about five minutes ago with a bag of lychee gummies- Kyoutani didn’t even know that they fucking had any- and flopped himself into the armchair, stuffed a fistful of gummies in his mouth and told Kyoutani in no uncertain terms that he thinks Kyoutani sucks at Super Mario World.

The fucking brat.

Sugawara’s sprawled out in the armchair now, all leaned back and lounging in it like it’s a fucking throne. He’s not said anything since his unwelcome criticism but Kyoutani is more than aware of his presence, wishes Sugawara would just fuck off already so he can relax in peace.

He wants to snap at him but then Iwaizumi would be pissed so Kyoutani’s just stewing in silence, trying not to look over at the artist as he runs through Soda Lake. Sugawara snickers when he dies, though, and Kyoutani can’t help but glare over at the artist and give him a scowl. A lazy grin crosses over Sugawara’s face and he snickers again, takes a gummy and throws it at Kyoutani.

It misses Kyoutani’s face by a good two inches.

“You fucking suck,” the artist sings out, stretching out and yawning. “Puppy doesn’t know how to plaaayyyy.”

Kyoutani wonders how much trouble he would get in if he broke Sugawara’s pinky. He could do it on the man’s left hand. It wouldn’t affect him too bad. Might snap him out of his fucking high.

The thought is tempting as hell and one he maybe indulges in a bit too hard because he blinks and then Sugawara is suddenly on the couch beside him, looking at him with heavy, glazed eyes. He’s way too close and Kyoutani can see how long pewter lashes are, how they fan over too sharp cheekbones when the artist blinks and how copper irises are flared up way too bright in reddened eyes. Sugawara’s beauty mark looks like a dot of ink in a sea of milk and Kyoutani thinks he should shove the artist to the floor and out of his personal space.

“I’ll show you how it’s done.”

Kyoutani frowns and then suddenly the controller is ripped from his hands and Sugawara is sliding off the couch to lay on his belly.

What the fuck?

He just stares at the grey haired man, watches as he crosses his ankles in the air and restarts the level.

It would be so easy to reach out and grab one of Sugawara’s ankles, so easy to pull him back over to the couch and take the controller back. It’s something he should do, wants to do. It’s something his fingers are fucking itching to do, twitching to do.

But, shit, then the brat will throw a fucking fit and he doesn’t have the patience to deal with it. This is the most tame Sugawara’s acted since they’ve brought him back and he’d rather deal with a brat than someone ten seconds from a mental breakdown.

Kyoutani huffs to himself and crosses his arms over his chest, glares down at Sugawara and tries to keep his cool.

Iwaizumi will just be even more pissed off if he bites Sugawara’s head off.

Fucking. That’s bullshit too. They both left the brownie in the fridge. Neither of them warned the artist away from it. Shit, knowing how petulant Sugawara is, he’d probably have eaten it out of spite anyway.

Maybe. Who the fuck knows?

“Koushiiiiii.”

Kyoutani closes his eyes at the now familiar whine and takes a deep breath, opens them and then glances over to the side. Oikawa’s standing there rubbing at his eye with a fist and scratching at his stomach with the other. His eyes look red, too, but he thinks Oikawa’s probably been crying instead of getting into things that would be best left untouched by the pair.

Shit. He hadn’t even really considered what happened with that part of the duo while he and Iwaizumi were out on jobs.

“Tooru.”

Kyoutani feels himself frown at the murmur from Sugawara, looks down at the floor to find the man pushing himself up to go over to the brunette. He snags the controller now that it’s been discarded and watches the pair out of the corner of his eye.

Oikawa looks tired and pained, mumbling something too quiet for Kyoutani to hear. He can’t see Sugawara’s expression but he can see the way he tiptoes just a bit, leans forward. There’s a whimper from Oikawa and then quiet, arms moving to wrap around Sugawara and the artist being squeezed tight before Oikawa’s lets go, starts dragging Sugawara out of the room.

Kyoutani takes a deep breath before looking over at the tv again, runs a hand through his hair and sighs.

This isn’t going to end well.

* * *

 

“I can’t fucking believe he got high.”

Kyoutani breathes in through his nose, out through his mouth as he looks at his groaning partner.

Iwaizumi slept in the fucking office last night and crawled out hungover and pissed off at himself about an hour ago. Kyoutani’s making him breakfast but Iwaizumi is just sitting at the kitchen island beating himself up over Sugawara and rubbing his temples and cursing his pounding head.

Which is...a little irritating.

Sugawara got high. Big fucking deal. Yeah, it turned out to be an annoyance but it did make the man relax for the first time since he’s been in the penthouse. Kyoutani can’t really see the problem with it, can’t understand why his partner is so aggravated over it.

Sugawara probably needed to get high, really.

“It was just weed,” Kyoutani huffs, eyeing the tofu in the pan and ignoring the frown that’s probably on Iwaizumi’s face. “It’s not like he snorted coke.”

“He’s going to be so fucking pissed when he realizes what happened,” Iwaizumi grumbles. Kyoutani rolls his eyes and starts plucking the tofu from the pan, placing them on a wire rack. “He’s been doing better. It’s going to set him back.”

Better? That’s a fucking riot.

“Maybe he won’t realize it,” Iwaizumi mutters. “Do you think he will? Sugawara probably won’t-”

“Sugawara won’t _what_?”

Shit.

Kyoutani glances over to the doorway, eyes Oikawa draped over Sugawara’s back, his chin hooked over the artist’s shoulder. Sugawara looks tired and suspicious, one hand reaching up to pat at Oikawa’s cheek and his eyes glaring daggers at Iwaizumi.

Great. He had hoped that they wouldn’t have to deal with this for at least a couple more hours.

He hears Iwaizumi take a deep breath, bites back a huff of annoyance when fingers begin tapping against the island counter. Kyoutani turns his gaze back to the bar and begins to pull a plate down, tries to ignore them all.

“Nothing,” Iwaizumi says shortly, firmly.

“Bullshit,” Sugawara snaps. “Why were you talking about me?”

“You misheard,” Iwaizumi tells him, voice sharp. “You two want breakfast or what?”

“You want to tell me why you’ve got my name in your mouth?”

Jesus, fuck.

“Koushi, I’m hungry.”

Thank fucking god.

Kyoutani looks up from the plate and glances over at Sugawara and Oikawa, catches how tight and angry copper eyes are, how his lips are pinched tight.

“This isn’t over,” Sugawara grinds out. Oikawa frowns where he’s rested on Sugawara’s shoulder and then Sugawara takes a deep breath, sighs. “Tooru, what do you want?”

“Milk,” Oikawa mumbles. “And toast.”

Sugawara takes another deep breath, flicks his eyes over to Kyoutani and frowns a little. He doesn’t say anything, though. Just drags Oikawa over to the fridge and ignores how Iwaizumi is scowling at him.

Kyoutani almost wishes that a job will come in just so he doesn’t have to be present for the eventual fight between Sugawara and Iwaizumi.

It’s a lot more exhausting having Oikawa and Sugawara live with them than he thought it would be. Kyoutani feels like he’s living with a pair of wildcats- one skittish and one constantly looking to scratch Iwaizumi and Kyoutani to ribbons.

It would be easier without Sugawara, Kyoutani thinks. Oikawa is skittish but he seems to have a fascination with Iwaizumi, is almost a bit clingy to him for reasons Kyoutani couldn’t even begin to guess. He wouldn’t mind just Oikawa, maybe. Taking care of the brunette seems to make Iwaizumi happy and that’s all that he really wants.

Kyoutani idly wonders how Oikawa would be if Sugawara were to leave, sighs to himself because it would probably just end up in a mess.

They have to find a way to tame Sugawara.

Kyoutani sighs again and hands Iwaizumi his breakfast, gets a smile in return for it. That lifts his mood for a moment but then Sugawara starts tapping his foot because _apparently_ Kyoutani is in his way and he’s pushed right back to being annoyed.

He’s such a fucking brat. Where the hell did he get those balls of steel?

“Sugawara,” Iwaizumi grumbles. “Did you think over what we talked about yesterday?”

“Tooru, let’s eat in the bedroom, okay?” Sugawara says in a too sweet voice, clearly ignoring Iwaizumi. Kyoutani frowns and glances over at the man, finds his face tired and frustrated. “You go on ahead, okay?.”

“But...but why?” Oikawa whines, his brow furrowing.

“Yeah, why?” Iwaizumi asks. Kyoutani glances over at him, finds something irritated in his expression and has to hide a sigh. “Eat in here. We need to talk.”

Silence from Sugawara. When Kyoutani looks to him, the man’s eyes are closed and his fists are clenched tight. Oikawa is pouting beside him and it feels like _someone_ is going to snap soon, throw a fit.

Maybe Sugawara’s composure is finally cracking.

“Fine,” Sugawara says quietly, his eyes opening. They’re flat and dead but for just a moment Kyoutani could swear there was a bright glint to them. “Tooru, sit down. I’ll finish making your breakfast for you.”

Kyoutani watches Oikawa float over to sit beside Iwaizumi, watches as Sugawara goes to pluck a plate from the cabinet. His grip is so tight on it that Kyoutani almost expects it to snap in half.

“You’re not eating anything?” he asks Sugawara, eyeing the singular plate.

“Not hungry,” Sugawara tells him stiffly.

“You need to eat something,” Iwaizumi chimes up gruffly. “You’re nothing but skin and bones.”

Kyoutani only gets the barest glimpse of rage flashing across Sugawara’s face before the artist lets a poisonous smile curl up on his lips.

“Iwa-chan,” Sugawara coos, turning around and smiling over at Kyoutani’s scowling partner, “are you my mom?”

Oikawa gives a giggle and Iwaizumi scowls deeper. Kyoutani has to grip the counter so he doesn’t smack Sugawara up the side of the head and tell him to stop being such a fucking brat.

Iwaizumi scowls at Sugawara, narrows his eyes at him. There’s a moment of silence and then Iwaizumi turns his head to Oikawa, looks him over.

“Oikawa, how would you like to get out of the penthouse for a little bit?”

Kyoutani doesn’t have to look over to know that murder is written all over Sugawara’s face.

“O-out?” Oikawa asks, voice confused and eyes anxious. He looks at Iwaizumi and then over at Sugawara, starts shaking his head. “No, no. I- no, _please_.”

“I fucking told him,” Sugawara hisses through his teeth, quiet enough for only Kyoutani to hear. “God _dammit_.”

Kyoutani frowns and crosses his arms over his chest, watches as Oikawa begins to panic. Something genuinely surprised crosses over Iwaizumi’s face, his brow creasing and eyes darting over to Kyoutani and Sugawara as if they can tell him how to salvage his mistake.

“Please don’t make me leave,” Oikawa whispers out, reaching over and tugging on Iwaizumi’s shirt to grab his attention again. “I-I’ll be good, I promise. Please?”

The sound of Sugawara slamming the plate down on the counter is almost enough to distract Kyoutani from the way Oikawa leans toward Iwaizumi ever so slightly, the way lashes lower and pretty lips part.

“Tooru,” Sugawara snaps, voice harsh. “Do. Not.”

There’s a whimper from Oikawa and then the brunette reels back from Iwaizumi as if he’s been slapped. Eyes squeeze shut and Oikawa hugs himself tight, starts rocking back and forth a little bit on the bar stool. Iwaizumi looks over at Sugawara with a grimace and Kyoutani eyes the artist out of the corner of his eye, scowls to himself because Sugawara is way too close to the block of kitchen knives for his comfort.

If he gets stabbed again, he’s going to break someone’s goddamn neck.

“Tooru, go to the bedroom,” Sugawara grinds out. “Now.”

Oikawa whines but scrambles out of the room obediently, nearly stumbles over himself trying to the flee. There’s a moment of quiet and Kyoutani moves from Sugawara’s side, walks over to Iwaizumi and stares down the furious artist from a standpoint where a knife- hopefully- won’t embed itself in his body.

“I _told_ you,” Sugawara snaps, taking a step toward the island. “I told you he’s not ready yet. You didn’t have to do that.”

“How else am I going to get to drag you out to the clinic?” Iwaizumi snaps right back.

Sugawara lets out a huff, rakes his hand through his hair angrily while glaring over at Iwaizumi.

“I was going to talk to you about it,” Sugawara hisses through gritted teeth. “I- _fuck_. I wanted-”

Sugawara cuts himself off and tugs at his hair, lets out a frustrated little noise. Kyoutani raises a brow and glances over at Iwaizumi, finds his partner frowning at Sugawara and looking him over with something hesitant in his eyes.

“You wanted...what?” Iwaizumi asks slowly, folding his arms across his chest.

Sugawara’s eyes go hard and his back stiffens, his glare getting even more nasty as he stares at Iwaizumi.

“It doesn’t matter now,” Sugawara snaps. “Now I have to go make sure he’s not trying to claw at his eyes or throat again. Now I have to make sure he’s not working himself into a panic attack. You-”

Sugawara cuts himself off again and Kyoutani scowls, knows that the artist was dangerously close to calling Iwaizumi something that would piss him off. There’s another frustrated little noise and then Sugawara turns and starts walking out of the kitchen, his movements so tight and controlled that Kyoutani knows he’s putting all his self-control into not stomping out, punching a wall.

Sugawara’s going to snap soon. Kyoutani just knows it.

“I liked him better when he was high,” Kyoutani grumbles.

He regrets it the moment it comes from his mouth.

Sugawara freezes right outside the kitchen doorway and Iwaizumi snaps his head to glare at Kyoutani, gives him a look that makes Kyoutani’s blood run cold.

Shit.

“High?” Sugawara’s asks, voice strained and light. He turns on his heel and Kyoutani can _see_ the panic beginning to rise up in him, watches as his face drains of color. “High? What do you- what?”

Sugawara blinks slowly and stares at Iwaizumi, his neck muscles moving as he swallows and the tips of his fingers twitching from where they peek out from one of Kyoutani’s sweaters. There’s silence and Kyoutani keeps his mouth firmly shut, refuses to sink himself deeper in trouble than he’s already found himself in. Sugawara just stares and shakes a little bit, licks his lips and opens his mouth before closing it again.

“Y-yesterday,” Sugawara whispers, realization slowly beginning to cross over him. “I- oh. _Oh god_. The- fucking. I should have- I was-”

Another moment of silence before Sugawara lets out some choked noise, panic bleeding out of his eyes to be replaced with burning fury instead.

“Why- why would you be so stupid as to-” Sugawara cuts himself off with another choked noise and threads his fingers through his hair. Kyoutani watches he sways, nearly stumbles and falls on his ass as he takes a step back. “Stupid. _Stupid_. _Stupid_.”

Kyoutani’s not sure if he’s calling them stupid or himself.

Iwaizumi moves to stand and go over to Sugawara but Kyoutani grabs his wrist, shakes his head. Sugawara sinks to the floor and starts rocking back and forth, tugging at his hair and hitting his head with his fists.

“Idiot. Idiot. _Stupid fucking idiot_.”

The mutters make Kyoutani frown and Iwaizumi jerks his wrist from Kyoutani’s grasp, goes to move to Sugawara again. Kyoutani lets him and follows after, tugs Iwaizumi to a halt when he thinks he’s getting close to Sugawara.

Iwaizumi’s too touchy and Kyoutani is sure he’ll lose a finger if he tries to reach out to Sugawara.

“Sugawara?” Iwaizumi asks quietly, trying to get his attention. “It’s...you didn’t know.”

“Shutupshutupshutup,” Sugawara hisses, pulling on his hair tighter. Kyoutani isn’t surprised to see strands snap from between his fingers. “Leave me alone.”

“It was just pot,” Kyoutani mutters.

“That’s not the point,” Sugawara snaps, squeezing his eyes shut. His voice cracks, though, and Kyoutani can hear a sob threatening to slip from him. “That’s not- you don’t- _get away from me_.”

“Why are you so upset?” Iwaizumi asks, crouching down. “Nothing happened. You were...relaxed.”

“Leave me alone,” Sugawara snarls, eyes still squeezed shut. “ _Fuck off._ ”

“Are you just...is it because you didn’t know?” Iwaizumi asks. “Or-”

“I said fuck off,” Sugawara shrieks at him, voice shrill and panicky. His eyes snap open and his hands drop from his hair, going to hug around his body. “Go away.”

“Suga-”

“Iwaizumi,” Kyoutani mutters. “You’re not helping.”

Iwaizumi turns his head toward Kyoutani and looks at him flatly, narrows his eyes a little.

He doesn’t have to say anything for Kyoutani to know that his partner blames him.

Which is fine because it is his fault. He doesn’t care though, really. It’s not a big fucking deal. At most, Sugawara will lash out at them and hide away for a few days.

Which wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

Iwaizumi eyes Kyoutani and frowns, raises a hand up and stands from his crouch, walks off. He hears the front door open and close, shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath.

He’s not looking forward to facing Iwaizumi later that night.

“Piss off, puppy,” Sugawara hisses. “Go after your master.”

Kyoutani huffs and steps over to Sugawara, crouches down and eyes the man. Copper eyes are glinting dangerously bright and he wonders just how close to breaking the artist is.

“You’re upset,” Kyoutani says slowly, “because you were high. Something could have happened to Oikawa and you would have been fucked up. You might not have been able to help him.”

“Shut up,” Sugawara snaps.

“You already blame yourself for how fucked up he is,” Kyoutani continues, ignoring him.

“Shut _up_ ,” Sugawara snarls. His lips are pulled back so his teeth are bared, arms wrapped around his stomach as he rocks back and forth. “Shut the fuck up.”

“It was just weed,” Kyoutani tells him, watching pale cheeks flushing red with rage. “And nothing happened to either one of you. You probably needed it.”

“I need _nothing_ ,” Sugawara chokes out, voice angry. “It was fucking irresponsible. Something could have happened. I’m supposed to take care of him and I- I-”

Sugawara cuts himself off and drops his gaze to the floor, trembles and then goes so stiff and still he reminds Kyoutani of a sculpture. He looks fragile enough that just the lightest of pokes could make him shatter to pieces.

Kyoutani wonders what sort of new creation they could put together if Sugawara fell apart, crumbled.

Maybe it’s time to find out.

“You’re not doing a very good job of that,” Kyoutani says flatly, bluntly. “You’re not letting Oikawa go to the clinic, get checked up on. He could have a disease festering in him and you’re allowing that.”

Sugawara snaps his head up and stares at Kyoutani, fury and fear fighting for dominance in his eyes. He opens his mouth and then closes it, brows knitting together and throat swallowing in a silent gasp.

“He’s- he’s not ready,” Sugawara protests, weakly. Kyoutani eyes him, takes it as a good sign that he’s curling into himself instead of lashing out. “You- you saw-”

“You don’t know if he’s ever going to be ready,” Kyoutani interrupts. “What if it’s months? Years? What if he never gets better? Are you just going to baby him?”

“Don’t-” Sugawara grits his teeth and jerks his head to the side, hides how wet his eyes are. “He’s- he’s going to get better.”

“You don’t know that,” Kyoutani repeats firmly. He eyes him and frowns a little, tries to figure out the tipping point. “You’re going to keep him weak by coddling him. You’re enabling him.”

“No. I’m not,” Sugawara whispers, starting to rock back and forth again. “No- _no_.”

“If he stays weak it’ll be your fault,” Kyoutani tells him bluntly. “It would only help by making him go out.”

Something like a whimper sounds from Sugawara and he rocks and shakes his head, moves his hands back up to curl his fingers through his hair.

“No, _no_. He- no. It’s not-” Sugawara cuts himself off and swallows hard, squeezes his eyes shut. “You only want me to make Oikawa go out because it’s what Iwaizumi wants.”

“Yes,” Kyoutani admits. “And Iwaizumi only wants you both safe.”

“Lies,” Sugawara spits out. “You’re lying.”

“If he didn’t want you safe, he wouldn’t have brought you here,” Kyoutani tells him, not quite able to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “He wouldn’t feed you. He wouldn’t let you hide away in the bedroom. He would have snapped your neck the first time you lashed out at us.”

Sugawara shoots up from the floor and runs down the hall, slips into the guest room and slams the door shut. Kyoutani just sighs and stands, scratches at his head.

Well. That either just went really well or really bad.

* * *

 

Neither Sugawara or Oikawa leave the room for the rest of the day.

Iwaizumi doesn’t come home until three in the morning. His breath reeks of whiskey and his hands are rough when he grabs Kyoutani and slams him against the wall. They argue, they fight, they fuck. Kyoutani wakes up with the imprint of Iwaizumi’s hands around his throat. Iwaizumi wakes up with his right hand bruised and scabbed with blood from where Kyoutani bit into it and broke the skin.

They silently shower and bandage each other other up, make up with each other by smearing antiseptic on one other’s wounds instead of apologizing.

Sugawara and Oikawa stay in the room for the entire day. Or, at least up until Iwaizumi and Kyoutani get called out to take care of a turncoat politician. There’s no response from the two when Iwaizumi knocks on the bedroom door and tells them they’re leaving. It doesn’t bother Kyoutani but it does bother Iwaizumi and they end up with a body count later on that’s higher than what that job called for.

When they get back to the penthouse they find Sugawara sitting quietly at the kitchen island, his forehead resting against his palm and his posture slumped, defeated.

“Take us to the clinic,” Sugawara says tiredly when Iwaizumi walks over to him. “But...but help me make it so he doesn’t have a meltdown. I can’t…”

Sugawara drops his hand as Kyoutani walks over, lifts his head to show exhausted eyes and a scratch down his cheek. His throat looks raw and pink as if he’s been scratching at it and Kyoutani makes a silent note to try to get him to cut his nails.

“Help?” Iwaizumi asks, voice almost cautious. “What are you wanting?”

Sugawara closes his eyes and sways on his seat, opens them again only to stare down at the counter.

“Do you...have anymore edibles?” Sugawara asks quietly.

Kyoutani blinks and looks over to Iwaizumi, finds his partner’s brow raised and raises his own.

Well then.

* * *

 

A week passes and Sugawara gets quieter and quieter, stays curled into himself. He doesn’t tell them what happened while he stay holed up in the room with Oikawa, doesn’t say why he asked them to slip some drugs to his partner. He just drifts quietly through the penthouse, keeps his gaze to the floor.

It’s possibly the most peaceful time they’ve had since the two came to live with them.

There are exceptions to the relative peace, of course. Sugawara’s protective, almost possessive nature rears up when Oikawa gets too close to Iwaizumi. There’s a harsh snap then, an angry glare. Sugawara stills gets nasty and petty toward both Kyoutani and Iwaizumi, still snarls and backsasses them. It’s just quieter, less dramatic.

Oikawa stays the same, for the most part. There’s the moments of muddled, hopeless confusion that leaves the brunette whimpering and shaking. There’s the moments where he’s good, where he chatters on in a bright voice and hums with a small smile. There’s the sleepy, languid moments where Oikawa just blinks heavily over at them, curls up and stares off tiredly in the distance.

And then there are the moments where Kyoutani lifts his head and finds Oikawa staring at him intensely, staring at Iwaizumi intensely, gaze piercing and calculating.

Kyoutani wonders, really, just how much of Oikawa’s mind is really there in those moments.

There are suspicions of those seemingly brief bursts of clarity, Kyoutani’s own little paranoid thoughts that set him on edge. There’s the thought that Oikawa is faking it, that he’s winding everyone around his little finger by playing the part of the invalid, the helpless, broken victim. Sometimes, when he finds Oikawa’s eyes cutting through him like a knife, he really believes it.

But then the brunette will accidentally spill something and look at them with such fear in his eyes that Kyoutani expects him to keel over from a heart attack. He’ll sob when something wet touches him on accident and flinch at the most random of noises.

He might be getting better but it’s hard to believe he’s actually pulling any strings.

Especially on evenings like this, where he’s sitting around in a daze and staring off into the distance looking as if he’s checked out from reality. He’s been staring outside the windowed wall of the penthouse living room for a good fifteen minutes now, absently kneading at a pillow in his lap and swaying lightly in place.

If Kyoutani didn’t know any better, he would have thought that Oikawa had already been slipped the edible.

“It’ll take, like, an hour or so to set in,” Kyoutani hears Iwaizumi mutter behind him. “Probably. He’ll be fine.”

“What if it goes wrong?” Sugawara asks, voice strained. “I...I can’t-”

“It’ll be fine,” Iwaizumi tells him quietly. “I...you’re right. It’s probably best if he’s a little...out of it. It’ll be okay.”

“Maybe we should wait,” Sugawara whispers, panic creeping into his voice. “I- maybe- I don’t-”

Kyoutani rolls his eyes and turns around, snatches the cookie from Sugawara and walks over to Oikawa, ignores the indignant noise of protest from the artist. He sits next to Oikawa on the couch, gets the brunette’s attention. Oikawa blinks at him slowly and leans back a little bit, looks confused over the fact that Kyoutani is sitting next to him.

“You want this?” Kyoutani asks, raising the cookie up. “It’s the last one.”

Oikawa blinks slowly again and glances at the cookie, glances back at Kyoutani. He gives a little nod and sticks his hand out for it, murmurs a quiet little “yes, please.” Kyoutani hands it over, watches him eat it, and then stands up, walks back over to Sugawara and Iwaizumi.

“There,” he tells them. “Now we wait.” He eyes Sugawara, takes in the panic settled onto a pale face, the fear flared up in copper. “You want one too?”

Sugawara doesn’t even answer. He just goes to sit next to Oikawa, reaches out and pulls him close.

Kyoutani should have drugged him earlier, probably.

“Think this will work?” Iwaizumi asks with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. Kyoutani just shrugs and Iwaizumi huffs, slides a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “Can’t fucking believe he asked us to drug Oikawa.”

Kyoutani gives a noncommittal grunt, crosses his arms over his chest and watches the two on the couch.

Really, he can believe it. It’s clear Sugawara wants to shield Oikawa from harm. It’s clear that he’s fucked up in his own little way from the month of captivity, his stay in hell. A combination of guilt and love has placed Oikawa’s needs far above Sugawara’s own. Sugawara needs to make sure Oikawa is safe, healthy.

And- apparently- if that means drugging him so they can take him to the clinic, then so be it.

Kyoutani can’t judge, though. He’d do the same to Iwaizumi.

“I’m going to call Matsukawa,” Iwaizumi mutters. “Keep an eye on them, okay?”

Kyoutani nods and watches as Iwaizumi heads to the study, flicks his gaze back to Oikawa and Sugawara. Oikawa is munching on the cookie with a dreamy little look on his face, leaning against a deathly pale Sugawara. Kyoutani idly wonders if it’s guilt or fear making him look so strained.

He really regrets not making Sugawara take an edible, too.

This isn’t going to end well.

* * *

 

It’s been an hour and a half since Oikawa ate the edible and it’s obvious that the effects have kicked in.

Oikawa is practically in Kyoutani’s lap, looking at him with hazy, heavy eyes and touching at his lips, dragging his middle and pointer finger right down the center of them while he hums. The digits catch in the middle, pull at Kyoutani’s bottom lip and make them part in the thinnest of slits. Oikawa’s fingers are dangerously close to slipping into his mouth and Kyoutani thinks Sugawara is dangerously close to burying a knife into his neck.

He had honestly expected Iwaizumi to become Oikawa’s drug fueled fascination, had expected the brunette to whine and paw at his partner instead.

He’s really not sure how to handle this.

Kyoutani just sits there quietly, passively. He lets Oikawa touch at his lips, his piercings. It’s only minorly annoying to be touched, really, and he doesn’t want to risk upsetting the man by pushing him away. It’s already a delicate enough situation as it is and he doesn’t want Iwaizumi aggravated if it spins into an unwanted direction.

It’s still kind of a pain, though.

Kyoutani lets out a little huff from his nose and that sends Oikawa giggling quietly, his fingers moving to stroke over the metal embedded in the flesh right under Kyoutani’s lips.

“So pretty,” Oikawa coos. Some dreamy little smile floats across his face and Kyoutani frowns when he feels fingers pinch at one of the piercings and tug at it lightly. “How bad would it hurt if I ripped it out?”

Oikawa tugs at it with a bit more force and Kyoutani narrows his eyes, pulls back and bares his teeth in a light growl. Oikawa just giggles, smiles a bit wider and sways in his spot.

“ _Tooru_.”

The harsh snap from Sugawara makes Oikawa whine and huff but it gets Oikawa away from Kyoutani, sends him drifting over to Sugawara. The artist doesn’t flinch when Oikawa touches his face but he does clench both his fists, makes his knuckles turn white as he digs his nails into his palms. Even from where Kyoutani is sitting he can see the strain on Sugawara’s face, the panic in his eyes. The man stays still, though, and Kyoutani wonders just how much of his discomfort he would push off for Oikawa.

“Kou-chan needs piercings,” Oikawa trills. Kyoutani watches as Oikawa’s thumb swipes over Sugawara’s bottom lip, slips into his mouth. Sugawara trembles almost unnoticeably at that, squeezes his eyes shut. “Tongue ring. Kou-chan needs a tongue ring.”

Kyoutani’s pretty sure Sugawara is going to pass out if Oikawa doesn’t step away from him.

“Oi, it’s time to go.”

Fucking finally.

He glances over at Iwaizumi leaning in the doorway, catches the light exhaustion on his face and the scowl that twists his lips.

Iwaizumi’s tired. Kyoutani’s annoyed. Oikawa’s high. Sugawara’s five seconds from throwing a fucking fit.

What a fucking group they make.

Kyoutani sighs and stands up, runs a hand through his hair and frowns over to where Sugawara is standing stock still. Oikawa’s already floated off to poke and prod at Iwaizumi but the grey haired man is standing in the middle of the living room with his fists still clenched tight and his eyes still squeezed shut.

Sugawara really should have let them drug him too.

Kyoutani sighs again, crosses his arms over his chest and waits for Sugawara to snap back to himself. The artist just sways in place, though, and keeps his eyes shut, his fists clenched.

“Sugawara, time to go.”

Sugawara trembles at Iwaizumi’s voice but then he stills, snaps his eyes open and looks over at them dully. Kyoutani watches him blink, watches him nod and thinks it’ll be a fucking miracle if they even make it to the car without Sugawara having a meltdown.

“Let’s go.”

Kyoutani grunts and follows after Iwaizumi, pauses when they reach the front door and turns to toss a beanie at Sugawara.

“Wear it,” he tells him.

The artist doesn’t even snap back at him like he’d half-expected. Sugawara just tugs the beanie on and stares at the front door, winces when Iwaizumi opens it. Kyoutani catches how the rise and fall of his chest quickens, catches how the artist’s hands shake.

This is going to be a disaster.

“Koushiiiii,” Oikawa whines, brushing past Kyoutani and grabbing at Sugawara’s hand. “I’m hungry. I want milk bread.”

Sugawara just nods, whispers a quiet “okay.” He sounds close to crying, Kyoutani thinks as he watches Sugawara lace his fingers through Oikawa’s.

“We can get you some milk bread later,” Iwaizumi tells Oikawa, stepping out into the hallway and beckoning. “Come on, let’s go.”

Kyoutani watches Oikawa squirm and frown, watches him cling to Sugawara’s hand a bit tighter.

“Where are we going?” Oikawa asks, voice innocent. “I don’t want to leave.”

“We’re going to visit a friend,” Iwaizumi tells him, waiting patiently. “You remember the doctor?”

“I don’t like him,” Oikawa mumbles, face scrunching with a frown. He tries to step away from the door, tries to retreat back. Sugawara holds his hand tightly, though, and keeps him from fleeing too far. “He’s mean. I don’t wanna go.”

“Tooru, it’ll be okay,” Sugawara whispers, voice barely audible. “Nothing bad will happen.”

It sounds like Sugawara is reassuring himself more than Oikawa.

There’s a whine from the brunette and he looks at Kyoutani, looks over at Iwaizumi. He squirms in place, lets out another whine and then pouts.

“I want milk bread,” Oikawa mumbles again, shuffling closer to Sugawara. “Can I have it? Please?”

“If you’re good and don’t make a fuss,” Sugawara says quietly, not even trying to hide the self-loathing on his face, “Iwa-chan might let you have some.”

Oikawa whines and nods, takes the few steps needed to exit the penthouse. Sugawara follows but pauses in front of the doorway, his hand slipping from the brunette’s and falling limply to his side. Kyoutani comes up behind him and resists the urge to push him out the rest of the way, takes a breath and tries to be patient.

“It’s too late to back out,” Kyoutani mutters, just so Sugawara can hear. “You’re not going to fall apart now, are you?”

Sugawara stiffens and whips his head back, gives Kyoutani a fierce glare before facing the doorway again. Kyoutani watches him take a deep breath, roll his shoulders and hold his head high. Another moment of waiting and then Sugawara takes the step needed to exit the penthouse for the first time in over a month.

Kyoutani follows after him and shuts the door behind them, brushes past Sugawara and walks over to the elevator.

“I’m driving,” he grumbles to Iwaizumi, fishing out his keys and swiping his access card against the elevator.

“Like hell,” Iwaizumi huffs.

“I want Iwa-chan to drive,” Oikawa says suddenly, popping up beside them. “Puppy is so angry all the time. He’s probably a scary driver.”

Kyoutani doesn’t know whether if he wants to strangle Sugawara for the nickname or wipe the smirk off Iwaizumi’s face even more.

“You heard the man,” Iwaizumi says with a touch of smugness.

Kyoutani rolls his eyes and steps into the elevator, places his hand out to halt the door from closing when he notices Sugawara lingering in the hall.

“Come on,” he tells him. “Let’s go.”

Sugawara sways and then stumbles forward, moves past Kyoutani with a little shiver. Kyoutani lets his hand drop, hits the button for the parking garage and waits impatiently for the elevator to reach it.

He hates taking the elevator.

“It’s so bright,” he hears Oikawa whisper behind him.

No one says anything in response and Kyoutani closes his eyes, silently hopes that Sugawara remains quiet and Oikawa remains pliant.

The elevator dings and Kyoutani opens his eyes, steps out into the parking garage and glances around.

Empty. That’s good.

“Kou-chan, c’mon,” Oikawa whines softly behind him. “We gotta go.”

Kyoutani ignores them and just heads to the car, carefully keeps watch for anything suspicious. He’s still jumpy from where they got ambushed a few weeks ago, still on edge and pissed off over it.

Fucking Johzenji is too bold these days. Where the hell do they get off trying to stir shit up?

The car beeps when Kyoutani reaches it and he slides into the passenger seat, tilts his head back and closes his eyes. He feels tired and drained, hopes it’s not going to be as big of a fuss as he suspects. He’s not looking forward to going to the clinic, not looking forward to seeing Matsukawa.

He hates the hospital but he hates Matsukawa’s clinic even more.

A few moments pass and then one of the back doors opens. Kyoutani opens his eyes and glances to the rearview mirror, watches as Oikawa shuffles into the car first and then Sugawara. Sugawara practically curls up into himself after he closes the door, burrows himself into the corner of the seat and draws his knees up, squeezes his eyes shut. Oikawa just blinks and looks around the car, yawns a little and stretches. Iwaizumi slips into the car, turns it on and earns a coo from Oikawa when the radio flits on.

“Iwa-chan likes rock,” Oikawa trills. “How predictable.”

Iwaizumi huffs and reaches over, switches from the radio to a cd before backing out of their parking spot. Oikawa lets out a little huff of laughter, scoots and rests his head on the back of Iwaizumi’s seat with a dreamy smile.

“Classical,” Oikawa hums. “Is Iwa-chan trying to impress me?”

“Like hell,” Iwaizumi snaps, voice gruff.

Kyoutani watches as Oikawa pouts, refrains from rolling his eyes at everything. He closes them instead, listens as Oikawa hums along to some song he doesn’t know the name of.

“Mm, this reminds me of Kiyoko-chan,” Oikawa says softly once the song is finished.

Kyoutani cracks open an eye and glances up in the rearview mirror, catches the fleeting sight of Sugawara’s face crumpling before the man drops his head to hide it against his knees.

“Kou-chan, what was the opera Kiyoko-chan was practicing for?” Oikawa asks, voice floating off toward dreamy.

There’s quiet for a moment and Kyoutani watches as Sugawara shakes, watches as his whole body trembles. Sugawara lifts his head up but keeps his eyes closed, swallows before shuddering again.

“Armide,” Sugawara whispers, voice so quiet it’s barely audible. Kyoutani can hear the crack in it, can hear just how close he is to breaking. “That was the last one.”

Oikawa lets out a hum and leans back to sit properly in the back seat, curls up a little bit and closes his eyes.

“That’s right,” Oikawa murmurs. There’s another hum and then a sigh, something a little wistful. “Ma rage s'éteint quand je l'approche...Il semble être fait pour l'amour.”

“Tooru, _please_ don’t,” Sugawara whispers, dropping his head back to his knees again.

Kyoutani raises a brow and glances over to Iwaizumi, exchanges frowns with him.

What the hell had that been about?

He dismisses it with a sigh and just closes his eyes, lets himself ignore the soft little hums from the back seat and the one lone whimper that he’s sure comes from the artist.

The rest of the ride is mostly quiet and Kyoutani is able to almost relax, almost drift off a bit. It’s welcome, the bit of unwinding. Even more welcome, though, is how Iwaizumi reaches over to squeeze his knee when they pull into the clinic’s lot.

He usually wants a hand around his throat but, tonight, some part of him wants something a bit less violent.

Maybe Sugawara’s nerves are rubbing off on him.

“We’re here,” Iwaizumi says quietly. “No talking until we get into the clinic. Matsukawa shut it down earlier for us. There should be no one in there but us. It’s...safe.”

“Safe?” Oikawa asks, voice low from murmuring. Kyoutani glances back and watches Oikawa’s eyes flutter open, watches as his lips part in a silent moan. “I want...want…”

Oikawa cuts himself off with a whine, moves to lean against Sugawara. Sugawara flinches away from him, though, scrambles against the car door with a whimper.

“Come on, let’s go,” Iwaizumi tells them, cutting off the engine with a sigh. “The faster we get in there, the better.”

Kyoutani frowns and turns his head to look back at Oikawa and Sugawara properly.

“Don’t try to run,” he says flatly.

“Why would I want to run?” Oikawa asks, voice innocent and eyes sleepy.

There’s some sort of strangled scoff from Sugawara and then the sound of the door being opened. Kyoutani quickly gets out of the car and walks over to the other side, stands next to Sugawara and fixes him with a stern look.

“Guard dog,” Sugawara mutters under his breath, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Kyoutani ignores the mutter and keeps his eye on Sugawara, waits for Iwaizumi and Oikawa to shuffle out from the car. Sugawara flinches away from Oikawa, once again, and hugs himself tight instead, shakes and swallows back a whimper.

“Let’s go,” Iwaizumi says quietly.

Kyoutani doesn’t miss the way Iwaizumi’s hand falls to Oikawa’s lower back, how he lightly begins to guide him to the building. Something possessive makes Kyoutani’s teeth set on edge but he ignores it, mutters to Sugawara to follow after them. The artist does, after a moment, and Kyoutani watches as he stumbles toward the clinic, as he shakes.

Matsukawa greets them at the door, still wearing his lab coat and smoking. His eyes are tired and his tie is loosened, face bored as Iwaizumi nods a greeting.

“Shouldn’t take too long,” Matsukawa tells them, leading them straight back to a room. “You owe me, Iwaizumi.”

“Like hell,” Iwaizumi mutters, hand still to Oikawa’s lower back as they walk into one of the rooms. “Don’t be an ass during this.”

“I have perfect bedside manners, thank you very much,” Matsukawa says dryly, plopping himself onto a stool. “I’ll send them out when they’re done.”

Iwaizumi nods and Kyoutani glances back at the two, catches sight of a confused and now anxious Oikawa, catches sight of a terrified Sugawara that looks like he’s two seconds from either bolting or passing out.

Matsukawa better keep his fucking mouth in check.

Kyoutani follows Iwaizumi out to the waiting room, sits himself down in one of the chairs and scowls as he looks around.

He’s always hated Matsukawa’s clinic.

It’s a pretentious affair perfumed with vanilla and jasmine incense, the faux scent pumped out silently from hidden air fresheners so the rich don’t have to stoop to smell the disturbing hospital scent everyone else has to suffer through. It’s all gilded and marbled, stuffed with plush furniture and scattered with abstract little sculptures. The only reading material consists of thick copies of French Vogue, economics magazines in English.

It’s pretentious and stuffy and sets Kyoutani’s nerves right on edge.

He folds his arms over his chest, flexes his fingers so he doesn’t tap his foot. Iwaizumi silently stares off into the distance, eyes dark and a little frown on his face.

“Did you know he could speak French?” Iwaizumi asks after a moment or two, breaking the quiet.

“Why the hell would I know that?” Kyoutani huffs, slumping down in his seat and throwing his feet up to rest on a magazine. “It’s probably just something from that opera he was talking about.”

Iwaizumi hums and Kyoutani scowls when he hears fingers beginning to drum against the wood of an armchair.

Why does everyone always have to tap tap tap? It’s so fucking irritating.

Kyoutani manages to handle it for about two minutes before he sits up, huffs and turns to Iwaizumi.

“I’m going out for a smoke,” Kyoutani tells him flatly.

Iwaizumi raises a brow but nods, pulls out his phone as Kyoutani stands up and walks out of the clinic.

It’s so much easier to breathe outside.

Kyoutani takes a cigarette from his pack and lights it, leans against the brick of the building and stares out at the city. It’s dark and quiet but he can see the neon in the distance, knows that somewhere people are getting drunk and gambling their life away, gambling someone else’s life away. He tries to focus on that, the seedy shit that could be happening, instead of the memories pressing at him, the ghost of angry fear that wants to rip through him.

It’s been years since the first time he got dragged to Matsukawa’s clinic and his hatred for it hasn’t lessened at all.

Kyoutani smokes one cigarette and then another, thinks back on the offer that Irihata laid down for him and Iwaizumi.

Belonging to an actual syndicate might be okay, he thinks. It’d be safer than being up for hire for anyone and everyone. He doesn’t really want to be at Irihata’s beck and call, though. Doesn’t want to be under the old bastard’s thumb. Aobajohsai isn’t bad but its got too many people in it that gets under his skin.

Iwaizumi has something of a fond spot for the old man, though. Kyoutani’s probably going to get dragged into it whether he likes it or not.

Kyoutani sighs to himself and pulls out his phone, rolls his eyes at the message from Yahaba but then raises his brow at the one from Kunimi.

_New toys in stock._

Well then. He has been needing to replace a few things.

Kyoutani hums quietly and tilts his head back, eyes the moon above. He feels a little better with fresh air, a little less ready to snap and a bit more relaxed. He still waits a few more minutes, though, before making his way back inside.

Iwaizumi lifts his head when Kyoutani walks in, offers him a tired little smile before glancing back at his phone. Kyoutani reclaims his seat and tilts his head back, stares up at the ceiling and closes his eyes.

“You know...Sugawara painted some scary shit for a while,” Iwaizumi tells him without preamble. “I was looking him up while waiting and...some of it’s really intense.”

Kyoutani just gives a noncommittal hum. He doesn’t quite care about Sugawara’s paintings, barely remembers the one they had seen at the gallery. And that’s only because of Sawamura, the surprise of seeing the man openly flirting with the ashen haired artist.

“Oh...he’s an orphan,” Iwaizumi mutters.

That little bit of information makes Kyoutani crack open an eye but he closes it back once more.

Somehow it’s not really a surprise.

There’s quiet again, only broken by a few random facts about Sugawara that Iwaizumi finds out. Apparently Sugawara likes to paint in some style that Iwaizumi calls “impressionistic.” He played volleyball in high school. He worked as a bartender on the weekends before he was kidnapped, has a small fanbase mourning his absence.

Kyoutani wonders if Sugawara cares about that, about the art groupies he had gained selfishly bemoaning _their_ loss.

Probably not.

They sit there just like that, quiet except for little comments from Iwaizumi. Time ticks by so slowly and Kyoutani gets more and more on edge again, is considering going out for more fresh air right when he hears it.

It’s a scream, a wail loud and piercing enough to travel through the thick walls of the building and to the waiting room.

Kyoutani is on his feet in less than a second, running toward the room they had left Oikawa and Sugawara in. Iwaizumi’s right on his heels, swearing profusely and growling out little half-threats.

“I swear to god, if Matsukawa-”

Another scream sounds, cutting Iwaizumi off. The closer he gets to the room, the more of a ruckus Kyoutani can hear and he lets out his own swear when he hears sobbing and shrieking.

Kyoutani flings the door open and almost gets knocked over by Oikawa running out, only barely manages to move out of the way. There’s whimpering from Oikawa but Kyoutani ignores him, focusing instead on Sugawara sobbing in the corner of the room as Matsukawa tries to drag him out of it.

“STOP IT STOP IT STOP PLEASE-”

“Just- fucking- I swear to god if you bite me one more fucking time,” Matsukawa hisses, yanking on Sugawara’s arm as Sugawara tries to scratch at him.

“LET ME GO. _DON’T TOUCH ME_.”

Kyoutani growls and stomps into the room, grabs the back of Matsukawa’s lab coat and jerks him away from Sugawara. Sugawara whimpers and presses even further into the corner, sobs and hides his face.

“What the fuck, Kyoutani?” Matsukawa snaps, elbowing him in the stomach. “I’m just trying to get him fucking tested. What’s his deal?”

“He doesn’t like to be touched,” Kyoutani snaps right back, shoving Matsukawa out of the room. “Did you fucking say something to him?”

“No,” Matsukawa huffs.

“That’s fucking bullshit and you know it,” Iwaizumi growls. “Kyou, try to calm him down. Issei, waiting room. Now.”

“Fuck you, Hajime. I didn’t do shit.”

“I swear to god-”

“Koushi! Koushi-”

Kyoutani lets out a frustrated growl and turns around, grabs the door and slams it shut. The noise outside the room is muffled but Sugawara’s sobbing is amplified, his terrified noises that much more prevalent.

“Sugawara,” Kyoutani tries, carefully stepping toward him.

Sugawara just shakes his head and presses himself even more against the wall, whimpers and trembles. Kyoutani sighs and takes another step toward him, crouches down and eyes the fresh scratches on Sugawara’s neck, the blood beaded up on his bitten over and cracked open bottom lip. He’s still trying to hide his face, still sobbing. His fingers are threaded into his hair, nails digging into his scalp.

“Sugawara,” Kyoutani says again. “You’re okay.”

“No, no. P-please,” the artist begs. Kyoutani doesn’t know what he’s pleading for, couldn’t even begin to guess. “Nonononono-”

“Sugawara,” Kyoutani snaps, trying to stop him from sinking further into panic. “You’re fine. Get it together.”

Sugawara whimpers and looks up at him, drags his nails from his scalp and down his face, scratching deep into his skin as he rocks back and forth. Kyoutani swears when they rake down his neck, as Sugawara claws at it while he sobs. His hands shoot out to grab Sugawara’s wrists before he can think about it and Sugawara screams, cries even harder and tries to jerk his hands away from Kyoutani.

Shit. What the fuck is he supposed to do?

“ _Please_ ,” Sugawara begs, cries. His voice is absolutely broken, weak and desperate. “Pleasepleaseplease. L-let me g-go. P-please. I’ll be g-good.”

Kyoutani swears under his breath, eyes the snot beginning to drip from Sugawara’s nose and how scared he looks, how terrified he seems. His eyes are squeezed shut, tears falling in unrestrained streams down scratched over cheeks. Thin shoulders shake and a throat works around a gasp as Sugawara tries to catch his breath, tries to breathe. He’s hyperventilating, though, and all there is are stuttered gasps for air, little strained sobs.

“Calm down,” Kyoutani tells him, orders. “Breathe. You’re okay.”

Sugawara shakes his head and sobs, weakly tries to jerk his wrists from Kyoutani’s grasp. His feet kick out, press against Kyoutani’s calves as he tries to force Kyoutani away, tries to curl into himself again. Kyoutani tightens his grip and Sugawara lets out a little wail, screams quietly.

“PleASE. PLEASE. _PLEASE-_ ”

Kyoutani swears and lets go of Sugawara’s wrists, curses when his hands go right back to his throat, go right back to clawing at tender, raw flesh. He grabs Sugawara’s wrists again, accidentally pushes the cuffs of the sweater up and touches his skin, wraps his hands around boney wrists.

Sugawara goes still at the contact, twitches and lets out choked, weak cries. He’s gone in an instant, gaze going hazy. For a moment Kyoutani thinks he’s going to pass out but then Sugawara gives a full body shudder, lifts his head and slams it back against the wall. He does it again and tries to do it once more but Kyoutani jerks him away from the wall, jerks him to his chest and wraps his arms around Sugawara to hold him tight, keep him from hurting himself again.

Sugawara goes limp, slack at that and lets out quiet, pleading noises against Kyoutani. When Kyoutani looks down, copper eyes are glassy and unfocused, abused lips parted so tiny whimpers can escape. Kyoutani stands, lifts Sugawara with him and that’s when the man passes out, that’s when he goes silent.

Kyoutani sighs and moves Sugawara onto the hospital bed, lays him out. The man doesn’t move, doesn’t so much as twitch a finger.

He knew he should have drugged him.

Kyoutani eyes him, makes sure he won’t wake up before slipping out of the room. He walks down to the waiting area and finds Oikawa shaking against Iwaizumi’s side, finds Matsukawa with a bruise on his cheek.

“He’s out,” Kyoutani says flatly.

Iwaizumi stares at Kyoutani, eyes him with something suspicious across his face.

“Out? You didn’t-”

“I didn’t do shit,” Kyoutani snaps. “He worked himself into a panic and passed out.”

“I’m fucking charging you for this,” Matsukawa tells Iwaizumi, standing up and scowling. “It’s not my fault he freaked out.”

“You should have let him go,” Oikawa pipes up, voice shrill with anger. “He _told_ you-”

“I was doing my job,” Matsukawa snaps, cutting the brunette off.

“Matsukawa, shut the fuck up and go finish it,” Iwaizumi growls. “Get it done so we can get the hell out of here.”

Matsukawa lets out a frustrated noise and turns on his heel, walks off and throws up the middle finger before he disappears down the hallway and out of sight.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Iwaizumi hisses through gritted teeth, running a hand through his hair. He looks over at Kyoutani, points at a seat and gives him a look that leaves no room for discussion. “What happened in there?”

Kyoutani huffs and sits down, grinds the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“He was freaking out over being touched and just...it was too much,” Kyoutani mutters. “He passed out.”

Iwaizumi frowns and sets his gaze on Oikawa, eyes him with something stern. The brunette whimpers and pushes away from Iwaizumi, curls into himself and whines.

“Has he been like that for a while?” Iwaizumi asks. “Not wanting to be touched?”

“I- I don’t know,” Oikawa tells him, something almost pouty on his face. “He lets me touch him.”

“Yeah and he’d probably cut his own dick off if you asked him,” Kyoutani huffs. He ignores the confusion that flitters through chocolate brown eyes, looks over at Iwaizumi and sighs. “He doesn’t want to be touched. Can’t blame him.”

Iwaizumi gives his own sigh and groans, rubs at his temples and stands.

“I’m going for a smoke,” Iwaizumi mutters.

There’s some nervous noise from Oikawa when Iwaizumi walks away and for a moment Kyoutani thinks he’ll follow after him. But Oikawa just stays put, sinks into the chair and looks over at Kyoutani with reddened eyes.

“Is Koushi going to be okay?” Oikawa asks softly.

“Probably,” Kyoutani tells him, having no idea if he’s telling the truth.

Oikawa squirms and bites his lip, looks over at the front door and then to Kyoutani. He fidgets and plays with the sleeves of the too small, borrowed sweater, lets out a frustrated noise when they won’t go over his hands.

“I’m hungry,” Oikawa whines, looking back up at Kyoutani.

“You can eat later,” Kyoutani says, trying to keep his voice from sounding too irritated. “We’ll be home soon.”

“But I want something _now_ ,” Oikawa says with a pout, folding his arms over his chest and squirming. “Please? I’m _really_ hungry.”

“There’s nothing here for you to eat,” Kyoutani tells him, not quite able to keep the aggravation out of his tone.

Oikawa huffs and frowns, pulls his knees to his chest and hugs them as he stares over at the front door. Kyoutani closes his eyes and wishes for a drink and a joint, hopes that Matsukawa will finish everything up fast.

A few minutes later, Iwaizumi comes back in and Oikawa starts whining softly to him, starts pestering him for food. A few minutes after that, Matsukawa walks into the room and tells them they can leave.

“He’s still passed out,” Matsukawa says flatly. “Get him out of here.”

Kyoutani rolls his eyes and stands up when Iwaizumi looks over at him, scowls at Matsukawa as he passes him by.

You’d think Sugawara had killed the doctor’s dog with the way he’s acting.

Kyoutani huffs to himself and walks to the room, finds Sugawara on his side with his eyes still shut, his hand dangling over the table. He frowns when he realizes the beanie is missing, glances around finds it flung across the room underneath a rolling table. He snatches it up and stuffs it in his pocket, walks over to Sugawara and carefully picks him up.

Sugawara doesn’t stir, doesn’t make a noise. He’s just limp in Kyoutani’s arms, soft against him. If it wasn’t for his eyes roaming under his lids, the almost too subtle rise and fall of his chest, Kyoutani would guess he was dead.

He’s not, though, and Kyoutani carries him out to the waiting room. There’s an immediate whine from Oikawa when he steps in, a sigh from Iwaizumi.

“Let’s go,” Kyoutani mutters. “I need a beer.”

Iwaizumi nods and stands up, beckons Oikawa to do the same. Oikawa pads over to Kyoutani, peers at Sugawara and bites at his bottom lip.

“Is he going to be okay?” Oikawa asks.

“He’ll be fine,” Iwaizumi says. “Oikawa, come on.”

Oikawa frowns but turns around, obediently follows after Iwaizumi. Kyoutani follows just the same, ignores Matsukawa outside the building smoking a cigarette.

“I’m not going to treat him anymore if he keeps biting me,” Matsukawa calls after them.

Kyoutani snorts to himself, looks down when he feels Sugawara press against him. Sugawara doesn’t do much more than stir, though, and he carries the man to the car without a fuss. The artist still doesn’t wake when Kyoutani carefully places him in the backseat, still doesn’t wake when Kyoutani slides into the passenger seat and closes the door a bit too loud.

He watches the backseat from the rearview mirror, watches as Oikawa pulls Sugawara so the man’s head is in his lap. The brunette pets over him gently, ducks his head. Kyoutani catches one tear fall and averts his gaze, looks out the window instead to watch neon lights blur, other cars pass by.

It’s a silent ride to the penthouse and Kyoutani is thankful for it.

When they get there, Kyoutani has to carefully pick up Sugawara again, get him out of the car and walk to the elevator. Fingers curl weakly into the fabric of his shirt and he hopes Sugawara stays asleep and out of it until they reach the penthouse.

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says quietly when the elevator dings to a stop. “Don’t be too clingy to him. Let him breathe.”

Kyoutani catches the frown on Oikawa’s face, watches him nod. A little whimper sounds from Sugawara and Kyoutani glances down, watches a pained look flicker across his face. The fingers curled into his shirt dig a little deeper and Kyoutani tries not to huff impatiently when Iwaizumi opens the door a bit too slowly for his taste.

He carries him to the guest bedroom, ignores Oikawa padding after him, ignores Iwaizumi’s solid footsteps. When Kyoutani goes to lay Sugawara down, some soft moan leaves the man and Kyoutani has to carefully pry Sugawara’s fingers from his shirt to get himself free.

As soon as he steps away from the bed, Oikawa crawls into it and lays next to Sugawara. Sugawara stirs in his sleep, rolls over and latches onto Oikawa, trembles and then goes still.

Kyoutani walks out of the room and to the kitchen, grabs a beer and then another one when Iwaizumi walks in a few moments later.

“Oikawa still wants milk bread,” Iwaizumi grumbles, popping open the tab and slinging back a gulp.

“Then fucking get him some,” Kyoutani tells him, leaning back against the counter and closing his eyes. “I don’t want to hear any more whining.”

“I can’t just give him everything he wants,” Iwaizumi huffs. “I’m not going to spoil him.”

Kyoutani doesn’t spare the effort to roll his eyes.

They stay quiet for a few moments, drinking and getting wrapped up in their own thoughts. Kyoutani keeps an ear out for any yelling, is half-expecting to spend the night dealing with Sugawara making a racket.

It’s still quiet, though, after a half hour passes. It’s still quiet, though, when a full one does.

Kyoutani finds his eyes closing as he rests on the couch but snaps them open when he hears Iwaizumi stand up, when he hears the light clink of the keys.

“I’m going to the corner store,” Iwaizumi says gruffly. “Back in a few minutes.”

Kyoutani gives a grunt and closes his eyes, lets himself relax as Iwaizumi leaves.

His partner is really too predictable.

Kyoutani sighs to himself and scrubs at his face, yawns and then stands up. He’s tired and the day has been way too long. The past week has been too long.

He walks himself to the bedroom, pauses outside of the guest bedroom to listen for any noises.

Nothing.

He continues on and flops himself on the bed, yawns and closes his eyes once again.

Kyoutani manages to stay awake just long enough to hear Iwaizumi come back home, open the guest bedroom door and call out softly to Oikawa, tell him that he has a snack for him.

Soft hearted idiot.

Before Kyoutani passes out completely, though, one last thought crosses his mind and he can’t help asking himself if Sugawara likes milk bread too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi and hello on [my tumblr](https://moramew.tumblr.com/)~


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An obligatory/self-indulgent domestic-y chapter. It's about as fluffy as this au gets.
> 
> Chapter warnings: brief, mild violence; brief knife-play scene

“Shit, fuck- I- look you don’t have to do this. I’ll pay you triple of whatever they’re paying.”

Iwaizumi sighs and stares down at the man he’s got tied to the busted up and bloodstained chair. He’s wound duct tape around the fucker’s eyes but the idiot is still jerking his head to the left and right as if he’ll be able to see anything.

Dumbass.

“C-Come on, man. I- I have a wife. I have _kids_.”

Iwaizumi takes a drag of his cigarette and blows out a puff a smoke, brings the almost burnt out thing up to eye level to study it idly. He rolls it between his pointer finger and thumb and lets out a little sigh when the man starts to beg again.

He has a wife. He has kids. _Let him go._ He’ll give him as much money as wants. _Please_. Does he want women? He can have his choice of any that he desires. He can have money, women, drugs- whatever he wants. Just don’t kill him _please_.

It’s nothing Iwaizumi hasn’t heard before.

Iwaizumi sighs and cuts the begging off by pressing the cigarette into the man’s cheek. There’s the usual little shriek and thrash, the unpleasant smell of burning flesh.

“You should have thought about your wife and kids before you decided to play the thief,” Iwaizumi says flatly, making his voice a bit louder so the man can hear him over his own choked noises. He grinds the cigarette a bit deeper into tender flesh before tossing it to the side. “You brought this onto yourself.”

Some pathetic, strangled noise slips from the man and Iwaizumi watches as he tries to strain against the cuffs binding his wrists and ankles to the chair.

“Shit- I- I’ll give it back. Please, _fuck_. I-”

Iwaizumi ignores him and turns to the side, glances over at his little table of supplies. He’s not quite in the mood for full on torture but this prick is supposed to be made an example of to others. As much as he’d like to just put a bullet through the guy’s head and head on home, he _has_ to do quality work.

He has a reputation to uphold.

Iwaizumi runs a finger over his tools and finally decides on a simple scalpel to get things started. He plucks it up from the table and moves closer to the man again, reaches out and slides it down a stubble covered throat. The man bucks in response and lets out a shrill little cry, ends up cutting himself on the scalpel and having blood bead up and trickle down. Iwaizumi clucks his tongue softly at that and reaches out to grab the man’s hair, pulls on it tight so the fucker can’t twitch and move.

“None of that,” Iwaizumi tells him. “We can’t have this ending too early. You’ve got a long night ahead of you.”

The man starts up his begging again and Iwaizumi swallows back an irritated sigh before turning back to his tray. He takes a bar of soap from it and the duct tape as well, moves back and grabs the man’s face. He forces his jaw open and shoves the soap inside, slaps the tape over the man’s mouth before he can spit it out.

There. That’s better.

Iwaizumi wrinkles his nose at the stream of piss that shoots down the man’s leg and shakes his head.

This guy is really pathetic.

Iwaizumi sighs and picks up his scalpel again, moves to trace it over the man’s cheek and down the trail of tears flowing over his face.

“Right,” he says. “Let’s get this party started.”

* * *

 

“Ayyy, Iwaizumi-san.”

Iwaizumi digs his nails into his palm so he doesn’t glare over at Futakuchi in surprise and takes a silent, deep breath to push back the adrenaline buzzing along his skin.

He’s tired and keyed up and he’s not really in the mood to talk with the cashier. He just wants to go home, fuck Kyoutani into the mattress and pass the hell out.

He spares Futakuchi a nod, though, before he heads over to the cooler area to grab a six pack. On the way to the front he snags a bag of chips too, picks up a newspaper on impulse. Futakuchi has his cigarettes out and waiting for him when he reaches the counter but there’s an envelope too, plain and unmarked, right underneath the pack.

“From Moniwa-san,” Futakuchi tells him, giving a corner of the envelope a tap. “Said he thought you might pop in tonight. Wanted you to have this.”

Iwaizumi eyes it and nods, flicks his gaze up to the cashier and finds Futakuchi wearing a bored, somewhat tired expression on his face.

“Thanks,” Iwaizumi tells him, taking the envelope and sliding it into his pocket. “Dull shift?”

Futakuchi hums and nods, starts ringing up Iwaizumi’s purchases. Iwaizumi makes note of his skinned up knuckles and the way they’re a little swollen.

Huh. Maybe Futakuchi is starting to climb the ranks.

They both stay quiet as Iwaizumi hands over his cash and takes his bag. Iwaizumi thanks him and then heads for the door, pauses hesitantly before pulling it open.

“Take care of yourself, Futakuchi,” he calls over his shoulder. “The world is a dangerous place.”

“Don’t tell me what to do old man!” Futakuchi calls back cheerfully.

Iwaizumi sighs and shakes his head, pulls open the door and steps out into the night.

Futakuchi doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into.

It’s not his business, though, and Iwaizumi pushes it out of his mind. Until he gets a call telling him to take down the smart mouthed brat, Futakuchi’s business doesn’t concern him. Little shit can do what he wants with his life.

Still, though, Iwaizumi ends up sighing as he walks away from the little convenience store.

He hops in the car and makes the short drive across the street and up into his building’s parking garage. Iwaizumi parks, cuts off the engine and closes his eyes for a moment, rests his head against the back of his seat.

His adrenaline spike is beginning to taper off but he has a feeling he’s going to be up for a good few hours yet.

Kyoutani better be awake.

Iwaizumi lightly bumps his head back against his seat before getting out of the car. He locks it and then locks it again, glances around the parking lot before heading to the elevator.

He’s still waiting for the day someone follows him home to get the jump on him.

Iwaizumi takes a breath and pushes his paranoia away, calls for the elevator and taps his foot impatiently. It comes down quickly but travels up too slowly for his taste. He nearly jumps when the elevator pauses on the sixth floor and has to force himself not to glare when someone stumbles in talking too loudly on their cell phone.

It’s three in the morning. Fucker should be in bed.

He holds his breath and tries not to outright wrinkle his nose at the stench of too much cologne and cigars. It’s a relief when the loudmouth gets off on the eighth floor and Iwaizumi lets his breath out in one big huff as soon as the doors close and he has the elevator to himself once more.

Maybe he should buckle down and get an actual house, he muses idly as he watches the floor numbers tick by. The city is convenient for work but he’d like to be able to hide away and not have to be wary of neighbors.

He should talk to Kyoutani about it, Iwaizumi thinks. The elevator dings to a stop on his floor and Iwaizumi steps out, cracking his neck as he pulls out his keys and walks to the door.

It’s quiet once he unlocks the door and steps in. Iwaizumi closes the door behind him and cocks his head a little, listening for any indication of someone being awake. There’s nothing, though, except for the hum of electronics and the near silent whirr of the ceiling fan going in the living room.

Of course.

Iwaizumi kicks off his shoes and sighs a little, scratches at his stomach while he heads off to his room. As he passes the kitchen, though, he ends up pausing and frowning when something catches his attention out of the corner of his eye.

Sugawara.

Great.

Iwaizumi takes a silent, deep breath as he turns to face the kitchen fully. Sugawara hasn’t noticed him yet and Iwaizumi doubts he would lift his head even if Iwaizumi were to shout. The man’s been unresponsive since the little _incident_ at the clinic and hasn’t bothered speaking to any of them- not even Oikawa- after waking up with a scream three days ago.

It’s been like living with a ghost, really. Sugawara’s just been floating around the penthouse aimlessly, his gaze muddied and his lips forever sealed. As far as Iwaizumi knows, Sugawara hasn’t slept. He’s refused to eat anything- at least in sight of anyone else. The ashen haired man has just withdrawn into himself, has become so listless and dull he hasn’t even bothered to snap at Iwaizumi or Kyoutani.

It’s almost pitiful. It’s mostly disappointing. Just as Oikawa is starting to get better, Sugawara takes a turn for the worse.

Well. Somewhat worse. Maybe not worse. Iwaizumi isn’t sure what to think about it. He knows it’s bad that Sugawara isn’t talking or eating, knows it’s bad that the man isn’t sleeping. He’s upsetting Oikawa by being silent and flinching from being touched. But, on the other hand, Iwaizumi isn’t getting snapped at. Kyoutani and Sugawara aren’t getting into arguments. It’s more peaceful with Sugawara likes this and Iwaizumi feels the barest trace of guilt over that.

If it wasn’t for Oikawa slowly getting more and more upset over Sugawara’s silence, he might push off trying to coax Sugawara out of his apathy.

But Oikawa _is_ getting upset and Iwaizumi is trying his hardest to keep the man’s head above water.

And, besides all that, the knife in Sugawara’s hand is worrying. If Sugawara is devolving into a state that might get Iwaizumi killed in his sleep, he needs to jerk the man out of it as quick as he can.

It’s a surprise that Sugawara hasn’t tried to sink a knife into their throats already, though, really.

Iwaizumi sighs quietly and walks into the kitchen. Sugawara doesn’t lift his head at all, not even when Iwaizumi is right next to him. He just stares at the knife held loosely in his grasp, face blank and body so still it doesn’t even look like he’s breathing.

“Sugawara,” Iwaizumi says, making it almost soft. “What are you doing?”

Iwaizumi watches as Sugawara blinks slowly, lashes resting against his cheeks for a long moment before they flutter back open. The man tilts his head up a little and cocks his head to the side, raises the knife to study it with a still vacant expression.

Iwaizumi suppresses a sigh and tries again.

“Sugawara. Put it down.”

Sugawara actually looks over at him with that, rolls his head to the side and stares at him with dead, dull eyes. Nothing changes except for Sugawara’s grip on the knife growing firmer, it shifting in his hold to glint in the soft shaft of light coming from above the oven.

Iwaizumi frowns at that, narrows his eyes at Sugawara and leans forward to him a little bit.

“Put it down,” he says firmly, quietly. “Don’t make me take it from you.”

Something flickers across Sugawara’s face at that but it’s gone almost as soon as it popped up and Iwaizumi doesn’t get the chance to name it. Sugawara blinks at Iwaizumi and then looks at the knife, lifts his other hand to run a finger over the blade, then his palm. A thin stripe of scarlet wells up and Iwaizumi scowls, reaches out and grabs Sugawara’s wrist that’s holding the knife before the man can do anything else.

Sugawara flinches and then whimpers, his wrist immediately going limp and the knife falling out of his hand to clatter onto the floor. Iwaizumi sighs when Sugawara’s shoulders begin to shake but pulls the hand toward him, inspects his palm. It doesn’t look bad, really, and the knife should be clean. Or. Was clean before Sugawara dropped it.

Iwaizumi reaches over to the paper towels and rips one off to dab at Sugawara’s palm, ignores how bad the man is trembling and the little choked noises slipping from him. When Iwaizumi lets go of Sugawara’s wrist, Sugawara pulls it close to his chest and lets out a loud, shaky breath. The way his eyes are wide with fear- pupils dilated and irises flaring up bright with panic- almost makes Iwaizumi feel a little satisfied solely for it being the most emotion he’s seen out of the man in three days.

Almost. He’d rather not have Sugawara snap back to himself because of anxiety and terror.

Iwaizumi breathes in deep through his nose and out through his mouth as he watches Sugawara hunch over a little and shake. He runs a hand through his hair and says the man’s name, tries to get his attention. Sugawara’s head snaps to Iwaizumi at the sound of his voice and for a moment Iwaizumi thinks Sugawara is going to lash out at him, panic and run. But then he just swallows hard and stares at Iwaizumi, hugs himself tight and takes one step back.

“Go to bed,” Iwaizumi tells him, trying not to sigh. “You need to rest.”

Sugawara stares at him for a moment and then drops his head, shivers a little and then heads out of the kitchen so fast he’s almost running. Iwaizumi shakes his head and bends down to pick the knife up off the floor, tosses it into the sink and frowns a little. He glances over to the knife block and wonders if he should hide it away until Sugawara gets better.

That would be annoying, though, and he’s sure Sugawara is too afraid to be touched again to repeat this little incident.

Or, at least, Iwaizumi hopes.

Iwaizumi sighs and leans against the counter, looks at the knives and runs his tongue over his teeth as he thinks.

He’s still not tired and he still wants to screw Kyoutani into the bed. More so now that he’s frustrated and annoyed.

Iwaizumi reaches over and grabs the paring knife from the block, twirls it through his fingers and then touches the tip to his thumb, smiles when just a little bit of pressure makes a bead of blood pearl up.

It’ll do.

Iwaizumi makes a quick stop to the bathroom to wipe down the knife with an alcohol pad but then goes directly to the bedroom, creeps in silently and stands at the foot of the bed as he eyes his partner silently.

Kyoutani looks good with just the soft light of the lamp falling on him. Even while he sleeps he still looks hard and rough, his face still holding the natural scowl that rarely flits into something softer. Iwaizumi doesn’t mind that, though. Likes it, really. It just makes it that much more good when he can make his partner break, grow hazy and yielding.

Iwaizumi hums quietly and oh so carefully pulls the covers back off of Kyoutani, smiles when the blonde frowns a little in his sleep. He shifts the grip of the knife in his hand and moves to straddle Kyoutani, puts the blade to his partner’s throat as soon as his eyes snap open.

He lets his eyes go half-shut when Kyoutani’s lips pull back in a snarl and presses the knife a bit more firmly against a tan neck. It takes a moment for Kyoutani to recognize it’s him and then his partner just huffs out a deep breath through his nose, narrows his eyes and then tilts his head back a bit, bares his neck. Iwaizumi smiles almost fondly at the gesture and moves the blade to draw down Kyoutani’s throat, over his collarbone.

He knows Kyoutani would let him slit his throat if he wanted. He knows Kyoutani would die for him without a second thought. His partner, his lover, his _pup_ is so loyal it’s almost overwhelming at times.

Almost. It turns Iwaizumi right the fuck on instead, really.

“Found Sugawara playing with a knife when I got home,” Iwaizumi informs Kyoutani casually, running the knife this way and that over tanned skin, inked flesh. “We need to keep a better eye on him. Wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt.”

Kyoutani just lets out a little grunt and moves his head back to stare at him. Iwaizumi hums and traces right down Kyoutani’s chest, circles the very tip of the blade around Kyoutani’s belly button. Kyoutani’s stomach flexes on instinct but then relaxes, presses right up against the blade. Iwaizumi smiles at that and grinds a little against Kyoutani as a reward, glances up at his partner to find him propped up on his elbows and watching him with hooded eyes.

Iwaizumi presses the flat of the blade against Kyoutani’s stomach and drags it across the skin while he hums and reconsiders what he wants for the night.

“Grab the lube,” he orders, flipping the knife so the edge of the blade is against Kyoutani’s skin again. “You get a treat tonight, pup.”

The brief flash of eagerness that runs across Kyoutani’s face makes Iwaizumi have to hide a grin. He smirks a little instead as he watches Kyoutani lean over to grab the lube from the nightstand. The movement causes shallow cuts to form on Kyoutani’s stomach but there’s no visible response from him besides Kyoutani swallowing back what Iwaizumi assumes is a groan. He catches the bottle when his partner tosses it to him and shuffles off of Kyoutani, looks at him sternly.

“Don’t move,” Iwaizumi tells him firmly as he shucks off his shirt.

Kyoutani obeys, the only part of him moving being his eyes as they watch Iwaizumi strip off his pants, his underwear. Iwaizumi tosses them off the bed and then pulls Kyoutani’s off, crawls on top of his partner and moves the knife between his teeth so he can slick up his fingers with lube. Kyoutani stays obediently still while Iwaizumi shifts and leans forward. He pushes an elbow down into the bed so he can support his weight and then slides a hand back, grinds down a little against his partner and he runs a finger over his own hole.

It’s a little awkward to take the knife out of his mouth but he manages and twists his wrist so the flat of the blade rests against Kyoutani’s lips.

“No moving,” Iwaizumi tells him, inhaling a little sharply when he starts pushing a finger into himself. Damn, it’s been a while. “Don’t make me tie you up.”

Kyoutani’s lips pull back a little so he can growl out his annoyance but Iwaizumi flips the knife and works the very tip of it into his partner’s mouth.

“Behave,” Iwaizumi warns, sliding the knife in just a bit further. Kyoutani’s mouth opens wider to allow the blade to slip in and Iwaizumi has to swallow a groan, ends up sliding in a second finger even if it’s much too soon. He hides a wince at it and makes up for it by grinding down against Kyoutani, brushing their cocks together to make the blonde’s gaze go a tiny bit unfocused. “Be good for me, pup.”

There’s almost a groan from Kyoutani at that and Iwaizumi can _feel_ his partner’s body tensing underneath him from the effort of trying not to rock up against him, get more friction. Iwaizumi smiles at that, lets himself smirk a little down at his partner.

“If you’re good,” Iwaizumi tells him, slipping the knife oh so carefully out from Kyoutani’s mouth, “I’ll let you come. Hell, I’ll let you come in me.” He shifts and sits up a little, arches his back and bites his lip when his fingers brush over his prostate. Iwaizumi grinds a little against them and lets his lashes lower, draws the knife down to Kyoutani’s neck and holds it firmly against it. “But only if you’re good.”

Kyoutani does groan this time, curls his fingers into the covers and fists the cloth tight. He stays down, though, and Iwaizumi grins, presses the knife so it nicks Kyoutani’s skin. He still doesn’t move and that makes something satisfied purr in his chest. Iwaizumi waits until a small little bead of blood runs down the edge of the blade before bringing it to his lips. He runs his tongue over the edge of the knife, flicks the tip against the flat of it to get the blood smeared on the side before smirking a little.

“That's my good pup,” Iwaizumi murmurs, crooking his fingers inside himself and allowing himself to moan a bit after the praise. “Now, if you just keep behaving, you might get to come.”

Iwaizumi grins when Kyoutani glares at him and presses the knife right back to his partner’s throat, leans down and nips at his bottom lip.

“Let’s test that self-control of yours.”

* * *

 

Iwaizumi aches in the morning.

He wakes up with a groan and sits up with a wince. For a moment he can’t understand why his body is yelling at him but then he glances down and sees the bruises and bite marks all over his hips, the scratches raked down his chest.

Right. Last night happened.

Iwaizumi glances over to see Kyoutani curled up and snoring, his shoulders holding so many bruises that it seems they’re all formed into one and his chest and stomach holding thin scratches, pretty little scabbed over marks. Iwaizumi smiles fondly at them and reaches over to run a finger over one, huffs out a laugh when Kyoutani twitches in his sleep.

So. Maybe his own will had broken and they had fell into a violent little frenzy instead of it turning into the teasing, controlled session he had wanted. But it was _good_ and he feels relaxed even with his body scolding him when he stretches his arms above his head and yawns.

Not a bad end to the night before, not a bad start to the morning.

Iwaizumi yawns again and shuffles out of the bed, makes his way to the bathroom and showers quickly. He’s hungry and vaguely sleepy but it’s honestly the most relaxed he’s been in a while.

He really hopes he doesn’t get a call from Aces later that day.

Iwaizumi pushes off the thought of murder possibly being on his agenda for the day and throws on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt before making his way to the kitchen. As soon as he walks in he finds Oikawa sitting at the island, a troubled little pout on the brunette’s face and his arms crossed over his chest.

Well. The morning _had_ been good.

Iwaizumi hides a sigh and walks over to the coffee pot, flicks it on and grabs the pack of cigarettes next to it. He takes one out and digs around in the junk drawer for a lighter, grunts in satisfaction when he scrounges one up and lights the cigarette up. He allows himself a long inhale, breathing in the chemicals and then blowing them out in a little plume before looking over at Oikawa.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, words rough from lingering sleep and minor annoyance.

Oikawa’s pout flickers and his brow furrows, the brunette letting out a huff and propping his chin on his hand as he eyes Iwaizumi.

“Suga-chan won’t talk to me,” Oikawa mutters, the whine in his voice almost masking the worry in his words. “He won’t say anything.”

Of course.

Iwaizumi takes a drag of his cigarette and tilts his head back, looks up at the ceiling and tries to find something to say to Oikawa that might placate him. His mind is still trying to kick-start, though, and he’s honestly not sure if there is anything he _could_ say to make the brunette relax.

So he sighs instead and tilts his head forward again so he can eye Oikawa a little bit.

“Has he...acted like this before?” Iwaizumi asks, trying make his voice soft, kind. It doesn’t quite work, though, and the words come out more tired than sympathetic. “Do you know anything that might help?”

Oikawa huffs again and leans back to cross his arms over his chest. He looks tired to Iwaizumi, eyes a little red rimmed and hair a bit messier than normal. He really needs a haircut. Clothes too, Iwaizumi thinks with a frown when he catches sight of a too short sleeve hiking up Oikawa’s forearm.

“No,” Oikawa tells him, the word almost a bit sharp. “When Suga-chan is mad or upset he doesn’t act like this. It’s new. I don’t like it. He’s being selfish.”

That gets Iwaizumi raising a brow. He tilts his head a little and studies Oikawa, takes in the way his lips are beginning to press into a hard line and how his eyes are starting to grow a little cold. It’s the closest thing to bad mouthing Sugawara that Iwaizumi has heard from Oikawa and it’s a bit disconcerting, a bit of a surprise. They’ve both been so protective over each other, so quick to put one another before themselves.

“Selfish, huh?” Iwaizumi mutters, watching Oikawa begin to scowl. He takes a drag of his cigarette and turns to grab a mug, pours the now brewed coffee into it and moves to face Oikawa again. “Why do you say that?”

“Because he’s supposed to be taking care of me,” Oikawa snaps, his fingers digging into his biceps through his sweater. “And he’s not.”

Iwaizumi’s brow raises high and then lowers and he sips at his coffee to hide his surprise.

Oikawa’s being a fucking brat.

He’s not really surprised, somehow. With Oikawa getting slowly more coherent, his personality has started peeking through and it’s...whiny, a bit. Demanding. Needy. Sugawara has bent himself backwards to try to keep Oikawa happy and now that he’s just a shell, Oikawa’s probably feeling a little neglected and unhappy.

Iwaizumi takes a drag from his cigarette and watches Oikawa’s huff and screw his face up petulantly, fine features twisting into something a bit sharp and cruel.

“Have you told him that?” Iwaizumi asks, taking one last drag after and tossing his butt in the sink.

Oikawa scoffs and shakes his head and Iwaizumi sighs quietly, isn’t sure if he’s grateful or not that Oikawa hasn’t said anything to Sugawara.

Maybe the brattiness is a one time thing, Iwaizumi thinks idly as he sips at his coffee. An effect from lack of attention or worry manifesting as petulance, aggravation.

Iwaizumi takes a little breath and runs his hand through his hair, tries to decide how to go about poking at Oikawa for possible solutions to Sugawara’s silence without getting him more worked up and upset. He’s never really been good at being tactful, though, and just ends up sighing and folding his arms over his chest, eyeing him.

“Sugawara needs taken care of too,” Iwaizumi tells Oikawa. He’s not sure if that’s guilt or frustration that flickers across the brunette’s face but decides to press on anyway. “And I said I’m going to take care of you. So just be patient. I’ll make sure you’re fine. And...he’ll come back to himself...eventually.”

Skepticism settles onto Oikawa like a well worn blanket and Iwaizumi watches as the brunette narrows his eyes a little, lifts and tosses his head back with a disdainful scoff. Iwaizumi tries his best to keep from sighing and takes a drink of his coffee instead, questions his decision for taking two in.

“He will,” Iwaizumi tells him. “Can you think of anything that might make him happy? Get him out of his shell? He hasn’t been eating, right? What’s his favorite food?”

Oikawa puffs up a little and for a moment Iwaizumi thinks he’s not going to answer him. But the brunette huffs and then squirms a little where he’s seated on the barstool, looks over at Iwaizumi with a frown.

“...mapo tofu,” Oikawa grumbles out almost reluctantly. “Super spicy. Suga-chan doesn’t like it when you two cook because it’s never spicy enough for him. He said you probably think flour is a spice.”

It’s Iwaizumi turn to scowl a little and that actually gets Oikawa smiling ever so faintly, lips twitching up just a tiny bit. Iwaizumi takes a breath and ignores the unneeded criticism of his cooking, files away the newly gained information about Sugawara.

Super spicy mapo tofu. It can’t be that hard to make.

“Anything else?” Iwaizumi asks him. “Anything that could help him...relax?”

Oikawa squirms again and then sighs, long and nearly dramatic, before answering.

“Drawing. Art things,” Oikawa tells him.

“Art...things,” Iwaizumi mutters. Of course. Really, he’s fucking stupid for not thinking about that earlier. “Like what?”

Oikawa huffs and this time Iwaizumi thinks the brunette’s annoyance is pointed his way instead of toward Sugawara.

“Just. Art things. Things he can draw with. A sketchbook. Pencils. Charcoal. Pastels. Whatever he can make things with,” Oikawa tells him, voice irritated.

“I thought he painted?” Iwaizumi asks, some momentary confusion running through him.

Oikawa gives him a look that makes Iwaizumi feel both very stupid and very annoyed. He scowls at Oikawa but the brat just snubs his nose in the air, sniffs almost pettishly.

What the fuck is with him today?

“Whatever,” Iwaizumi mutters. “You want something to eat?”

“Yes,” Oikawa tells him, the word coming out short and snippy. Iwaizumi gives him a _look_ and Oikawa squirms on the barstool, bites his lip before letting something nearly sweet cross over his features. It’s a wonder how just a lowering of lashes and a tilt of his head can turn irritation into something almost beguiling. “Please?”

Iwaizumi ignores the pretty softness that the word carries and just nods, steps over to the fridge to try to pull together breakfast.

“Right,” he mutters. “At least one of you appreciates my cooking.”

The quiet snicker that sounds begs to differ and Iwaizumi huffs as he pulls out a carton of eggs.

Fucking brat. Why is he even doing this?

* * *

 

He asks that very same question five hours later when he’s wiping brain matter off the toe of his shoe, scraping it over the sidewalk as he eyes the pretentious store front that google maps brought him to.

Iwaizumi should be going back home to drag Kyoutani into the bedroom so he can fuck and nap. He should be laying low and enjoying every blessed second of his free time. But, no, here he is in this hoity-toity shopping district getting eyed fucked by spoiled college brats spending mommy and daddy’s money on a bunch of shit they don’t even need.

Iwaizumi huffs and drops the cigarette from his mouth, grinds it into the sidewalk so the ash mixes with gross grey, dark blood.

He should have been more careful with cleaning up after the job.

Iwaizumi sighs to himself and pushes the thought away, steps forward once he’s sure he’s not going to trail blood anywhere and pointedly ignores the eyes that slide over him, the whispers from the girls sitting at the table in front of the cafe right next to the shop.

He can’t believe he’s doing this.

Iwaizumi pushes open the door to the shop and immediately feels a sense of discomfort. Everything is white and meticulously organized, the shelves lined up so perfectly it looks like no one has touched anything in years. The shop is full up, though, with people lazily walking about with baskets draped over their arms and phones to their ears. Some sort of soft, foreign music is playing over carefully hidden speakers and when Iwaizumi glances at the clerk he’s met with dead eyes and too polite smile.

Iwaizumi just took out a Councillor’s son while the fucker snorted coke off a strung out teen’s tits without blinking an eye but this- this posh little shop with its too clean floors and bright lights- is creeping him the fuck out more than anything else he’s seen that entire week.

He’s never been comfortable with this sort of thing.

“Can I help you, sir?”

Iwaizumi has to dig his nails into his palm so he doesn’t scowl. He takes a breath instead and turns to the shop employee that practically materialized out of thin air. They look just as dead inside as the clerk at the checkout counter and Iwaizumi almost feels a flash of pity as he eyes them.

Almost.

He digs his nails a little deeper into his palm and nods, forces himself to be nice because he actually really does need help.

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi tells him. “I...I, uh, have to get a gift for my cousin. He likes to draw and paint so I thought I would get him some supplies but I don’t know much about it.”

The employee- Hitoshi the name tag reads- blinks and Iwaizumi can practically see the man’s patience draining from him.

“Do you know what medium he works with?” Hitoshi asks in a polite if dry voice. Iwaizumi stares at him blankly and he’s sure he catches Hitoshi swallowing a sigh before forcing a smile. “What does he draw with? Paint with?”

Iwaizumi frowns a little and tries to remember what Oikawa told him. Pencils? Charcoal? What the hell was it?

“I think...someone mentioned pencils?” Iwaizumi tells him, mentally cringing at how unsure and awkward he sounds. “Charcoal? They said he’ll use whatever to draw. I know I want to get him a sketchbook, at least.”

Hitoshi is not quite able to completely hide the sigh this time. The employee nods, though, and takes a step toward a neat stack of what Iwaizumi thinks are sketchbooks.

“Let’s start with that then,” Hitoshi suggests. “And then we can build up from that?”

Iwaizumi nods his consent and he follows after the employee, feeling more and more lost as the man starts to talk about different sorts of paper and mediums and art styles.

He ends up leaving an hour and half later with one bag in hand and a wallet about fucking 19484 yen lighter.

Sugawara better appreciate this.

He books it out of the shopping district as quickly as possible and heads to his little corner of the city. It’s still just as pretentious there, really, but he’s able to pop into the dingy little grocery store that he favors before he crosses into home territory. He spends considerably less time in it than at the art supply boutique and sighs tiredly when he slides into his car the final time so he can head home.

He feels almost a little foolish as he drives home.

Iwaizumi doesn’t have to do this. He knows he doesn’t. He knows he’s going to be told that he’s spoiling Sugawara and Oikawa. But. He promised to take care of them, make sure they’re okay. He coaxed Kyoutani out of his shell with food and games, comic books and action movies. So...it’s the same, really. It’s fine. He’s just being a good guy. There’s no reason to feel foolish over that.

He repeats that to himself as he drives home, as he parks the car and struggles to manage a hold that will allow him to carry all of his shopping bags in one go. He repeats it as he rides the elevator up to the penthouse and awkwardly shuffles to grab his key from his suit pocket.

There’s really no reason he needs to defend his actions but he still finds himself mentally preparing to snap a retort as he walks into his home.

No one greets him and he finds himself raising a brow at that. He’s gotten used to Oikawa cooing out an annoying call of “Iwa-chan” when he comes home and is surprised to find himself...not disappointed- god, no. But...fuck it. He’s not anything. He just got used to it is all.

Iwaizumi ignores the silence and toes off his shoes and strips off his suit jacket before walking down the hall. He pauses to glance into the living room before stepping into the kitchen and spots Sugawara curled up against the windowed wall. Iwaizumi can’t understand why it seems to be Sugawara’s favorite spot in the penthouse but he’s not too surprised to find the man sitting there.

Sugawara’s wrapped up in a blanket and his face is turned away but Iwaizumi _thinks_ that the man might actually be sleeping. Thinks. He can’t be sure but, to be safe, he lets him be.

Sugawara needs his rest.

Iwaizumi moves his gaze from the possibly sleeping man and over to the couch, sighs a little when he finds Oikawa stretched out and snoozing like some overgrown cat. He looks ridiculous with his mouth open and slack, with the sweater he’s wearing twisted up and baring a scarred torso. He’s still too thin, Iwaizumi thinks, but he’s starting to get a little better.

Iwaizumi sighs quietly and turns to the kitchen, walks in and sets the bags on the island.

Honestly, it’s a little bit of a relief that everyone is asleep.

Well. He can’t be sure about Kyoutani. But, he’s pretty sure his partner is resting somewhere as well. He _shouldn’t_ be and Iwaizumi has half a mind to scold him for not keeping a better eye on Sugawara and Oikawa but…

But, well, everything is fine and he wants to believe they’re reaching a point where he can trust the two to be alright on their own.

Iwaizumi shakes his head a little and jostles all his thoughts away as he starts taking the groceries he bought out.

Right. How the hell is he going to do this?

He’s not sure how long Sugawara is going to rest and he thinks the bread is going to take a lot longer to make than the mapo tofu. So...bread first?

Iwaizumi stores away the ingredients for the mapo tofu and keeps the stuff for the bread out. He takes out his phone to pull up the recipe he chose earlier and squints at, finds himself tilting his head a little.

What the fuck is a starter exactly?

Iwaizumi isn’t really sure but he rolls up his sleeves and obediently follows the steps to make it, whisks the flour, milk, and water together in a pot before letting it simmer. He stirs it idly as he looks over the rest of the recipe and ends up swearing when he realizes he doesn’t have a fucking mixer.

Shit.

He finishes up the starter and has to force himself not to stomp in irritation once he leaves the penthouse. Luckily, there’s a fancy little boutique that sells incredibly overpriced kitchen appliances just down the street. He buys the first one the sales lady recommends because he’s too irritated to look at any other ones and lugs the thing back to the penthouse to plop onto the kitchen island.

Why the fuck is he doing this?

Iwaizumi sighs and runs a hand through his hair, stares down at his phone and wonders if this is all worth it or not.

Whether it is or not, Iwaizumi pushes forward stubbornly and moves onto the next step of the recipe. It’s surprisingly not as hard to make the bread as he thought it would be and he actually finds himself smiling a little bit in satisfaction as he sets the bowl to the side so the dough can rise.

Whatever that means.

He takes the time to shower while he waits, cleans himself off and pulls on sweatpants and an old shirt- he was right; Kyoutani is fast asleep in their bed when he walks into their room- before going back to the kitchen to check on the dough. It looks right- he _thinks_ \- when he peeks at it and Iwaizumi covers it again to let it set for a few more minutes so he can have a cigarette and crack open a beer.

A yawn sounds just as Iwaizumi lights up and he glances over to the doorway to find Oikawa blinking over at him sleepily as he scratches his stomach.

“Iwa-chan…” Another yawn and then Oikawa stumbles to one of the barstools to sit down. “What are you doing?”

“Uh…” Iwaizumi takes a sip of his beer to push off answering the question, scowls when he feels something uncertain run through him. “I’m making bread.”

“Making...bread?” Oikawa asks, something almost a little puzzled in the words. Iwaizumi raises a brow at him and Oikawa yawns as he props his chin up with his hand. “Why?”

Iwaizumi awkwardly takes a drag from his cigarette and looks away from a drowsy face and curious eyes. He turns to the bowl instead and takes the towel off the bowl before answering.

“Just felt like it,” he mutters, leaning forward a bit to check his phone and see what he has to do next.

A little hum sounds from Oikawa at that and there’s another yawn, a few seconds of silence.

“What kind of bread is it?” Oikawa asks.

Iwaizumi takes a deep breath and pushes away the awkward feelings snaking through him, scowls a little to himself because what the fuck? It’s not like he’s doing anything weird.

“Milk bread,” Iwaizumi grumbles out.

The silence that follows makes the hairs on the back of Iwaizumi’s neck stand up and he slowly turns around to find Oikawa staring at him. He’s sitting up straight now, posture rigid and gaze so calculating and cutting that Iwaizumi finds himself tensing up.

Oikawa tilts his head to the side ever so slightly and lowers his lids just a fraction as he crosses his arms over his chest and stares Iwaizumi down.

“Are you making that for me?” Oikawa asks, voice way too soft to be called anything but dangerous.

Iwaizumi blinks and takes a drag of his cigarette, tries to shake off how unsettled he feels with shrewd mocha eyes fixed on him.

“Yeah,” he tells him, making his voice casual. “I’m going to make Sugawara the mapo tofu so I thought I should make you something as well.”

Oikawa’s eyes narrow almost imperceptibly and Iwaizumi watches as a pale throat works around a silent swallow.

“Why?” Oikawa asks, voice almost light. “Do you want something in return?”

There’s a pause and then, before Iwaizumi can say anything in response, Oikawa’s lashes lower more and he leans back, touches at his lips and runs his eyes over Iwaizumi.

“Do you want me?”

Iwaizumi stiffens at that and takes a deep breath so he doesn’t swear, eyes Oikawa and shakes his head.

He almost understands what Sugawara meant in the bathroom now.

“No,” Iwaizumi says firmly. Oikawa blinks in response and Iwaizumi scowls a little bit. “No. I don’t want anything in return. I just thought I would do something nice.”

Oikawa hums and drops his hand to tap against kitchen island, his head tilting more and his gaze still speculating.

It’s the most coherent and clear Oikawa has been since this entire thing started and, quite frankly, it’s a bit disconcerting.

There’s more quiet as they stare each other down and then Oikawa finally seems to relax a little, sighing and moving to rest his chin on his hand again.

“Iwa-chan is so nice,” Oikawa coos. “Who would guess he’s a stone cold killer?”

Iwaizumi huffs and turns from Oikawa, finally is able to shake off the odd disquiet that had crept through him. He taps the ash from his cigarette and grinds the butt out on a plate in the sink before washing his hands. Iwaizumi pulls his phone to him and squints at the screen before punching the dough as instructed and lifting it to plop it down on the cutting board.

“Has he still not said anything?” Iwaizumi asks, ignoring the little comment about his profession.

There’s a sigh but Oikawa informs him that _no_ , Sugawara has _not_ said anything yet. Oikawa whines a little to him as Iwaizumi carries on through the recipe, grumbles that Sugawara has never been like this.

“What’s he like then?” Iwaizumi asks as he rolls out the dough. He scrunches his nose at it and wonders if it’s too thin before dismissing it. “What was he like before all...this?”

There’s a long stretch of silence and for a moment Iwaizumi thinks Oikawa isn’t going to answer him. But then there’s a quiet sigh, an almost shaky breath exhaled.

“Radiant,” Oikawa whispers, the word almost too quiet to catch.

Iwaizumi raises a brow but doesn’t turn to Oikawa, lets the man have some privacy. He starts forming the dough instead, making it into fat little logs as instructed by the recipe.

Curiosity gets at him, though, and he reaches over to sip at his beer before cautiously prompting Oikawa.

“What do you mean by radiant?” Iwaizumi asks.

There’s more quiet and then another breath. Iwaizumi covers the pan while he waits, moves to wash his hands again.

“Just...radiant,” Oikawa murmurs quietly from behind him. “Charming. Funny. Creative. Bright.” Some sort of almost bitter bite of laughter sounds and Iwaizumi has to resist the urge to turn to look at Oikawa. “He never had to try to make friends. _Everyone_ liked Koushi.”

There’s quiet again but Iwaizumi refrains from breaking it. He can feel the start of a ramble just waiting to burst from Oikawa and he decides to indulge, stays quiet and moves to start pulling out the ingredients for the mapo tofu instead.

“We didn’t like each other at first,” Oikawa mumbles after a moment. Iwaizumi glances over to find Oikawa’s forehead resting against his palm, his eyes closed. “But he got to me without really lifting a finger. One moment we were at each other’s throats and the next he was grinning and laughing and telling me that he’s never had a better muse. And that was the end of it. I didn’t have a chance.”

Iwaizumi can’t picture Sugawara grinning. He sure as hell can’t picture the man laughing.

There’s a sigh from Oikawa and Iwaizumi averts his gaze when Oikawa lifts his head. He carries the ingredients over to the counter and stays quiet as he pulls up the recipe on the phone. He expects Oikawa to continue on but there’s nothing but silence filling the kitchen.

When he glances over his shoulder, Oikawa has his head buried in his arms on the island. Iwaizumi sighs and turns to face the counter again, decides to just let the brunette be.

He starts on the mapo tofu instead, mixes in the pork and soy sauce and cornstarch into a bowl and idly waits as it sits according to the recipe. Five minutes pass before there’s a yawn and a grunt that catches his attention and Iwaizumi flicks his gaze to find Kyoutani leaning against the doorway and eyeing him.

“You’re cooking?” the blonde asks, his voice holding something like disbelief in it.

Iwaizumi bites back an annoyed huff and nods, waves a hand at the dough still rising in its pan and the meat marinating in its bowl.

“Yeah,” he tells Kyoutani. “Milk bread and super spicy mapo tofu.”

Kyoutani’s brow arches a little and Iwaizumi watches as he glances over to Oikawa. There’s a tiny little huff from his partner and then the blonde steps into the kitchen fully, walks over to Iwaizumi and nudges him out of the way.

“I’ll do it,” Kyoutani mutters.

A hum sounds before Iwaizumi can protest and his eyes look over to Oikawa without meaning to. The brunette has his head up now, chin resting on his forearms and something tired on his face.

“Puppy is going to cook?” Oikawa asks, some trace of a dull tease in the words.

Kyoutani grunts affirmatively and Iwaizumi scowls a little, elbows his partner back out of the way.

“No, puppy is _not_ going to cook,” Iwaizumi says, almost snapping it.

He doesn’t have to look over to see the glare on Kyoutani’s face. Iwaizumi is well aware of the annoyance that the variation of his petname for Kyoutani brings. It’s a good way to push Kyoutani back into his place, show him when Iwaizumi is displeased.

He’ll have to thank Sugawara for it some day.

There’s another hum from Oikawa, something mellow and almost amused.

“I want puppy to cook,” Oikawa announces. Iwaizumi scowls toward him but Oikawa ignores him, laying his cheek on his forearm. “He doesn’t burn food like Iwa-chan does. I don’t want my milk bread messed up.”

There’s a smug little smirk on Kyoutani’s face when Iwaizumi glances back at his partner. He narrows his eyes at Kyoutani but the blonde just nudges Iwaizumi out of the way again and ignores his irritation.

“You just need to bake the bread, right?” Kyoutani asks, leaning over to eye it. Iwaizumi huffs but nods and a faint, rare smile flashes across Kyoutani’s face. “Good. Now back off.”

Iwaizumi scowls and grabs his pack of cigarettes from the counter, walks away to give Kyoutani room and slips one into his mouth.

Kyoutani is never going to let him live down the time he nearly caught the penthouse on fire trying to cook. Iwaizumi knows he’s not the best cook and he knows the incident left his partner a little...wary. But. He’s gotten better. It’s not going to fucking happen again.

Iwaizumi sighs a little and fishes the lighter out of his pocket so he can light up. He catches Oikawa watching him out of the corner of his eye but ignores it, thinks he’ll just take a fucking nap since he’s no longer needed.

The bag of almost forgotten art supplies catches his attention before he leaves the kitchen, though, and he walks over to grab it from the island, raises a brow when Oikawa looks him over.

“What?” Iwaizumi asks, somewhat irritated.

The brunette just blinks and shrugs, turns his head to watch Kyoutani instead.

Whatever. Oikawa’s probably just hit his limit of mental energy for the day.

Iwaizumi leaves Oikawa in the kitchen, lets him watch his partner in misplaced fascination. He walks into the living room instead and eyes Sugawara where he’s still curled up in the corner. The blanket has slipped from where it was pulled up over his head and Iwaizumi can see that his eyes are closed, lashes fluttering every so often as the man twitches.

Iwaizumi watches him as he smokes, glances down at the bag in his hand and gets struck with the thought that it might upset Sugawara instead of making him happy.

That makes him want to groan but he shoves the thought away, takes one last drag before walking over to the man.

Sugawara’s eyes open when he gets halfway to him and Iwaizumi watches as the man frowns a little and then shudders, presses further into the corner. Iwaizumi hides a little sigh and continues forward, crouches down in front of Sugawara a few feet away and sticks the bag out in front of him. Confusion makes Sugawara’s brow furrow and he blinks almost groggily at the bag, at Iwaizumi.

“It’s art...stuff,” Iwaizumi grumbles in explanation. “Sketchbooks. Pencils. Pastels. I didn’t know what you use so I got whatever the shopkeep suggested.”

Confusion blossoms into bewilderment and Sugawara tilts his head a little, scrunches his nose in a way that could almost be called cute. There’s a trace of fear that flickers across Sugawara’s face and Iwaizumi watches as bitten up lips part just a fraction, as something makes muddied eyes brighten.

Iwaizumi doesn’t really know what to do besides stick his arm out a little further, offer it to Sugawara awkwardly. Sugawara stares at him and shrinks back a little, searches his face for something Iwaizumi can’t begin to imagine. He waits quietly and patiently and resists the urge to bring his cigarette to his lips. After a moment, teeth sink into a trembling bottom lip and a pale hand slips from the blanket to cautiously reach toward the bag. Iwaizumi stays still and watches as the hand hesitates before touching it, watches as Sugawara pulls it back just a bit before swallowing and reaching out to grab it.

Iwaizumi lets it go the second Sugawara touches it and Sugawara pulls the bag to his chest, lets the blanket fall off his shoulders so he can hug it to him.

And then he just looks at Iwaizumi, his eyes wide and searching, brow furrowed and baffled. He looks like he’s actually going to speak and Iwaizumi stays quiet, tries to not stare at the streaks of pink marring a pale throat or the smears of purple under exhausted eyes.

He waits but nothing comes and Sugawara just stares at him in what Iwaizumi thinks is disbelief.

Iwaizumi sighs but stands and Sugawara tilts his head back to keep looking at him, his expression starting to crumble into something almost a little raw.

“Kyou’s making you something to eat,” Iwaizumi tells him quietly. Sugawara blinks and there’s a shaky breath from the man, some surprised little noise. “Oikawa said you like super spicy mapo tofu. So. He’s making that. I’m sure he’ll tell you when it’s ready.”

Another shaky breath and then Sugawara _trembles_. There’s a sudden glint of tears in copper eyes and Iwaizumi swears softly at how vulnerable that makes Sugawara look, swears softly at the sudden fragility that seems to creep over the man. Sugawara ducks his head before Iwaizumi can really say anything, though, and hides his face as he curls up and his shoulders begin to shake.

Iwaizumi hesitates and wonders if he should say something but then sighs, figures that it would do more harm than good. He turns on his heel and starts walking away, sticks his cigarette in his mouth as he feels weariness poke its head up in him.

He makes it just a few steps before he hears the sniffle, the unsteady inhale.

“Thank you.”

Iwaizumi blinks and it takes all his willpower not to turn around and stare at Sugawara, see if he’s still hiding himself, if the whispered words had been accompanied by a show of face.

He resist, though, and takes a drag of his cigarette, tilts his head back and blows a plume of smoke toward the ceiling.

“No problem,” Iwaizumi mutters.

There’s just the quietest sniffle in response and Iwaizumi walks out of the living room, lets Sugawara sort himself out.

He goes to his bedroom and tamps the cigarette out in an ashtray, practically face plants onto the bed as he feels himself start to crash. Iwaizumi smiles a little, though, and sighs as he gets himself comfortable.

The day wasn’t so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise it's going to pick back up soon.
> 
> Come say hi and hello on [my tumblr](https://moramew.tumblr.com/)~


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suga has never felt so desperately violent before in his entire life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suga's having a hard time, y'all.
> 
> Chapter warnings: panic attack, self-harm via scratching, puking, reference to past abuse, mentions of suicidal thoughts, drinking and drugs

It’s too loud. It’s too fucking _loud_.  
  
Suga grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut, drops his pencil so he doesn’t snap it in half and scrubs at his face with his hands.  
  
Why are they so loud?  
  
A titter of laughter cuts through his mind like a knife and Suga curls into himself, hands running up so his fingers can thread through his hair. He tugs on it and it hurts but it helps, a little, to distract himself from Oikawa laughing at something Iwaizumi has said.  
  
How can Oikawa laugh like that?  
  
Suga swallows his bitterness like vinegar, blanches at the taste and the envy that chases after it.  
  
He’s so _disgusting_.  
  
Oikawa laughs again and Suga curls up tighter in his little corner, presses against the walls and opens his eyes to glare down at his drawing.  
  
It’s shit. It’s complete fucking _shit_. Garbage, like him. Over-dramatic and dark and ugly and complete fucking _shit_.  
  
Why did he try?  
  
Hot tears sting his eyes and Suga tugs at his hair harder, jaw clenched so tight it feels like his teeth are going to break and crumble into each other.  
  
Weak. So weak. He’s _pathetic_. Why is he even here? Oikawa’s happy without him. He’s doing nothing but worrying him. _Iwaizumi_ is clearly making him happy- happier than Suga can.  
  
Suga should leave. He should- he should leave. Leave, go. Let Oikawa be happy. Let...let Iwaizumi take care of him. Suga can’t. He can’t do _anything_.  
  
That’s what Suga should do...that...that would be…  
  
A _mistake_. He _can’t_ leave Oikawa alone. Can’t leave him with them. They’ll hurt him. Liars. They’re _liars_. This is all an act- this care, the gifts, the food? An _act_. They’re going to _hurt_ him.  
  
Suga snaps his glare over to them and scratches at his neck when he sees the sleepy smile on Oikawa’s face, digs his nails deep into his throat at the _look_ on Iwaizumi’s face.  
  
_Bastard_. He’s trying to take Oikawa. He’s trying to win him over, gain his trust just so he can fuck him up like he did with Kyoutani. He’s _evil_. Can’t be trusted. Suga can’t leave Oikawa alone here. He _can’t_. This is all _his_ fault and he can’t let Oikawa be fucked up more than he already is. He can’t just abandon him and leave him to the wolves.  
  
_It’s all his fault._ He _can’t_ leave Oikawa. If he hadn’t of insisted- if he hadn’t of been _selfish_ then none of this- none of this-  
  
A full body tremble wracks through Suga and he bites into his bottom lip to keep from letting out a sob, squeezes his eyes shut so tears can’t slide down his cheeks. It’s too hard to breathe now and the room seems too small and too hot, his heart crumbling and his throat clogging up with guilt.  
  
Weak. He’s so _weak_.  
  
Suga doesn’t notice when his nails claw down his throat deep enough to draw blood. He doesn’t notice when the sound dies in the room or the footsteps that come his way. All he can focus on is the sweat beading up on his neck, the way he can’t catch his breath and how _dizzy_ he’s starting to feel.  
  
Too much. Everything is too much.  
  
“Sugawara?”  
  
Suga whips his head over to the side so fast it hurts and shrinks back into his corner, chest heaving with the breaths he can’t quite keep up with.  
  
Iwaizumi is beside him now, crouched down and frowning at him. There’s a gash on his forearm and some stitches as well and Suga feels itchy looking at them, can’t help digging his nails into his throat and scratching as deep as he can, desperate to make the itch go away.  
  
“Sugawara,” Iwaizumi repeats, slower this time. Suga’s eye threatens to twitch at his name. _They_ called him that. He doesn’t want to be called that. He _hates_ when Iwaizumi and Kyoutani call him that. “Are you okay?”  
  
Okay? Is he _okay?_ He’s living with fucking _hitmen_ and he doesn’t even know if his boyfriend is still his boyfriend but that _doesn’t even fucking matter_ because he can’t bare to be touched by Oikawa and he can’t bare to look at Oikawa sometimes because the urge to try to _break his neck_ is too strong and there’s just so much _disgusting_ jealousy in him and so much envy and _hate_ and need and loneliness and he’s so fucking _tired_ and his skin is _too tight_ and he can’t sleep and he can’t fucking _breathe_ and he hasn’t been out in the sun in what feels like years and _no_. _No-_ he’s not okay.  
  
A harsh gasp of laughter tears from his bloody throat and Suga shakes with it, his lips trying to twitch into some imitation of a smile and his lashes growing wet.  
  
“ _Peachy_ ,” he croaks out, nails sliding down to bite into the hollow of his clavicle. “Now fuck- fuck off.”  
  
It comes out weak and shaky and Suga _hates_ that but at least he didn’t burst into tears or break down. It should be enough for the bastard; it’s not like Iwaizumi cares about Suga. All _he_ cares about is getting his filthy hands on Oikawa.  
  
Filthy hands.  
  
Suga’s eyes dart down to Iwaizumi’s hands and he stares at them, at the faint scars on them.  
  
He should break Iwaizumi’s hands. He should break Iwaizumi’s neck. He couldn’t hurt Oikawa then.  
  
_He should break Iwaizumi’s neck_.  
  
Suga’s fingers twitch and his hair gets pulled tighter, his nails draw more blood.  
  
Faintly, he knows that he’s not thinking clearly. He knows he’s having some sort of breakdown. He _knows_. That part is so quiet, though, and Suga is so _angry_ and he needs some way to get this- this murderous _enmity_ rotting inside of him out of his system, his body. It’s so _loud_ and so _much_ and if he doesn’t do _something_ he’s going to _scream_ until he collapses and his lungs give out.  
  
Suga has never felt so desperately violent before in his entire life.  
  
“Sugawara,” Iwaizumi says, again. Suga flinches at the sound of his name and sucks in a harsh breath, curls up tighter. “You really should-”  
  
“ _Don’t fucking touch me,_ ” Suga snaps at him. He can hear the hysteria in his voice but there’s no way for him to care with Iwaizumi reaching out to him like that. “Don’t- don’t fucking touch me. Don’t call me _that_.”  
  
Iwaizumi’s hand drops and green eyes stare at Suga, shocked and confused and slicing into his skin like a knife. Suga presses tighter into his corner, sudden anxiety crashing into his anger. He wants to lash out at Iwaizumi, claw at his face and _make him fuck off and leave him alone_. But then he would be _touching_ him and Suga can’t- Suga can’t _do_ that.  
  
Why is he so weak?  
  
Iwaizumi stares at him and Suga almost whimpers, but manages to cling to his last shreds of self-control and suppresses it, shudders out a rough exhale instead.  
  
“What...what am I supposed to call you then?” Iwaizumi asks, voice almost cautious. Suga flinches at the question and Iwaizumi frowns, forehead creasing. “What do you want me to call you?”  
  
Suga squirms and scratches at his neck with a nervous motion, distressed that he had let that slip through. He hadn’t meant to show that weakness, that sore spot. He’s slipping so much, looking so pathetic.  
  
“Sug- Suga,” he mumbles, voice failing to be strong like he needs it to be. “Just. Suga.”  
  
Tears are dangerously close to falling down his cheeks and he’s so fucking mortified over how weak he’s being. He grits his teeth and glares at Iwaizumi when the man shifts, when the bastard eyes him like something he has to treat with delicacy lest it breaks.  
  
He’s being stupidly, sickeningly pathetic but Suga is _not_ going to let himself collapse completely in front of _him_.  
  
“Koushi?”  
  
Oh, god.  
  
Suga snaps his head toward Oikawa and sheer terror rips through him at the worry on Oikawa’s face.  
  
He fucked up. He fucked up. He fucked up so _bad_. He’s supposed to be better now. He’s supposed to be over himself and taking care of Oikawa but now Oikawa is worried again and Suga is being a selfish, _pathetic_ shit and, god, why is he even here? Why can’t he hold himself together?  
  
A hiccup of a breath leaves Suga and there’s an overwhelming impulse to dart out of the room and hide, curl up in a closet and shut himself away from the world.  
  
It’s too much. It’s too much. He’s a failure and this is all his fault and it’s too fucking much.  
  
Suga gasps out another breath and tries to blink the spots filling his vision away, twitches and digs his nails deeper into his skin when Oikawa slowly walks over to him.  
  
He needs to be good. Needs to pull himself together. Needs to be strong. Needs to protect Oikawa. Needs to- needs to-  
  
A hand grips his sleeve and tugs gently but firmly, forcing Suga’s mind to a halt and making him stiffen up so tight it feels like talons are curling into the spaces between his ribs when he tries to breathe.  
  
“Okay, _you_ need to calm down,” Iwaizumi says, voice sounding far off. Suga’s eyes dart to him, but he doesn’t move beside that, terrified that if he moves that Iwaizumi will grab onto him. “Come on. Fresh air, let’s go.”  
  
Fresh- fresh air. Outside? They’re going- he wants but it- a _trap_. It’s- has to be- last time- he can’t- he wants- _no_.  
  
A distressed noise leaves Suga and it’s loud enough for him to notice it, makes him flinch and curl into himself.  
  
“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa speaks up, voice anxious. He’s staring at Suga when Suga dares to look at him and Suga feels like crying at the way Oikawa looks almost repulsed, vaguely scared. “Iwa-chan, you’re taking us outside? We’ll be safe?”  
  
There’s an affirmative grunt and Suga feels something in him shatter when Oikawa’s face brightens up, when his eyes leave Suga and something giddy lights across Oikawa’s face.  
  
He can’t do that. He can’t make Oikawa smile like that. Useless. _Useless_. He’s so fucking _useless_.  
  
Suga drops his head to hide his face against his knees, a tear slipping down his cheek and his teeth biting into his tongue in an effort to keep from sniffling.  
  
He’s so tired. He’s so worthless.  
  
“We’re just going on the roof,” Iwaizumi announces, voice too loud and words coming out slow. He’s talking like they’re children and Suga wants to shove him out a window. “Kyou, clean him up a little. I’ll go ahead with Oikawa.”  
  
Suga’s head snaps up in panic and he glares at Iwaizumi, shakes his head furiously.  
  
No. _No_. Oikawa can’t go up with Iwaizumi to the roof. He can’t be alone with him. He _can’t_. Iwaizumi will _hurt_ him. He’ll- he’ll-  
  
“N-No,” Suga croaks out, nails digging into his biceps through his sweater. “Not- He’s not going with you. Not- not alone.”  
  
Weak, pathetic. So pathetic. Can’t even speak- useless. _Useless_.  
  
“I want to go,” Oikawa huffs, face pinching into petulance when Suga’s eyes darts to him. “I want to see the _stars_.”  
  
Stars. Oikawa deserves to see the stars. Deserves to _have_ the stars, adorn himself with them. Suga is holding him back and he’s making him unhappy and he needs- he _needs_ to make him happy. But Iwaizumi- _no_. No, he can’t- he _can’t_.  
  
A strangled noise leaves Suga and he rocks in place without realizing, shaking his head and trying to catch his breath.  
  
Not good. Not good. This isn’t good.  
  
“Too- Tooru, _please_ ,” Suga begs, rasping it out without meaning to. “Don’t- wait, _please_.”  
  
Oikawa’s eyes narrow and Suga shrinks into himself, eyes stinging with tears.  
  
He can’t cry. Not here. Can’t- but Oikawa- Oikawa _hates_ him- Oikawa hates-  
  
A wet hiccuping sound leaves Suga and everything crumbles inside of him, his heart breaking into jagged little pieces and the remaining shreds of his self-control slipping from his grasp.  
  
“Let him go,” Kyoutani mumbles in his ear, suddenly crouched down close to him. “You don’t want him mad at you, do you?”  
  
No, no. He doesn’t- he can’t-  
  
Suga squeezes his eyes shut in a weak attempt to keep from crying and buries his face against his knees once more.  
  
“Come on, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi mutters after a moment of silence. “Grab one of my jackets; it’s chilly out.”  
  
Suga lifts his head at the sound of footsteps, but drops it again without looking after them, torn between loathing and panic, frustration and fear.  
  
Leaving, leaving. Oikawa is _leaving_. Suga can’t make him happy and Oikawa is leaving to be with someone that can.  
  
There’s the sound of Oikawa humming and the door opening up, Iwaizumi saying something that Suga can’t make out. A half-moment later and the door closes again, leaving Suga to bury his fingers in his hair and tug on it tight.  
  
UselessUseless _Useless_. Weak. Fucking _weak_. Why can’t he be better for Oikawa? Why did he have to get like this? He wasn’t supposed to get like this. This wasn’t supposed to happen.  
  
None of this was.  
  
Suga sniffles, not able to help himself, and hates the noise of it, hates the tears slipping out from behind his lids, and hates himself.  
  
_Your fault,_ he tells himself. _This is all your fault. You don’t get to be like this. You don’t get to breakdown. So fucking selfish. Get over yourself._ _  
_ _  
_ Suga digs the heels of his palms into his eyes and tries to flame the fires of his weak anger, tries to let it eclipse the pathetic, overwhelming hopelessness and panic that’s washed over him.  
  
He needs to be angry again. He can control anger. He can’t control this.  
  
Another sniffle leaves Suga and he slumps against the windowed wall of the living room, tears dripping down his cheeks and exhaustion blanketing over him.  
  
Weak. So weak. So fucking weak. He let Oikawa go with Iwaizumi and he let himself break down and he’s letting himself cry and he’s so fucking _weak_.  
  
He stays slumped and he stays pathetic and he stays torn apart by the panic rippling just underneath his skin and the bitterness that fills his mouth like cheap wine.  
  
“Here.”  
  
Suga’s eyes snap open and he flinches, instinctually and feebly pushing tighter into the corner when he finds Kyoutani crouched in front of him. There’s a glass in his hands and a blank expression on his face and the tears trickling down Suga’s cheeks feel like fire.  
  
He’s crying in front of this bastard. How humiliating.  
  
Suga wipes at his eyes and glares at Kyoutani, glares harder when the blonde huffs impatiently.  
  
“What- what the fuck is that?” he asks, trying to save what little face he has left.  
  
It comes out too wet and tired, though- his throat still clogged with tears and bitter desolation keeping his bravado tamped down. Kyoutani just huffs again and frowns, shoves the glass toward Suga with enough force that whatever is in it almost slops out over the rim.  
  
“Just drink it,” Kyoutani grumbles to him.  
  
Suga tries to dredge up suspicion and paranoia in an effort to resist but it only lasts for a half-second and he ends up taking the glass, bringing it to his lips.  
  
What’s the point anymore? It doesn’t even matter.  
  
Suga opens his mouth and tilts the glass forward, swallows down a mouthful of liquid.  
  
And immediately starts choking.  
  
Suga gasps and forces it down his throat, coughs hard enough that he ends up wincing from it. The surprise of it is enough to yank him out of his mire and he glares at Kyoutani as he hacks, eyes watering from something that’s finally not self-pity.  
  
“You _fucking-_ that’s straight- god, _fuck-_ straight whiskey,” Suga hisses, throat stinging and stomach burning as the liquor sears down through his body to rest in it. “Why- why would you give me this?”  
  
Kyoutani’s lips twitch into something that almost resembles a smirk and Suga clutches the glass tight at the impulse to fling the alcohol into the asshole’s eyes.  
  
“You needed a drink,” Kyoutani answers, plainly and in an all too sure way that sends something annoyed _screaming_ through Suga. Suga scowls at Kyoutani and Kyoutani raises a brow back in response. “You don’t want it?”  
  
He does want it. He wants it _very fucking much_. He wants to drink himself into oblivion and forget about everything, lose himself to a bottle and have one night of peace.  
  
He’s so selfish. He can’t do that. Something might happen and Oikawa might get hurt and then there would be more that’s his fault and Suga doesn’t think he can handle that.  
  
But, god, does he just want to drink and pass out. He wants to _sleep_.  
  
When Suga doesn’t say anything, Kyoutani lets out an impatient noise and runs his hand through his hair.  
  
“Nothin’s going to happen,” Kyoutani tells him, words coming out in a rumble. “If we wanted to do something to you or Oikawa we would have done it a long time ago. Wouldn’t have taken you to the fucking doctor’s.”  
  
A cold ripple of terror spreads through Suga at the mention of the doctor’s and he stiffens up despite trying not to, fingers gripping the glass so tight it hurts.  
  
He can’t remember the doctor’s. He remembers yelling and fear and the gross, phantom feelings of hands on him. He can remember pressing against something warm and the ride to it but not the ride back and he doesn’t know what happened, but the threat of the memory makes him itchy.  
  
Suga twitches and takes a too large gulp of whiskey, coughs after it slides down his throat. He sets the glass on the ground and then places his right hand to his left wrist, begins to scratch at it.  
  
“Stop that.”  
  
Suga ignores Kyoutani and scratches a little deeper, rakes up along his forearm. He needs to make it stop, needs to make this itch go away. It’s so awful, so gross. Makes him want to throw up. Makes him want to scream.  
  
Suga’s nails slide over an old scab and rip through it. He winces, but the light pain drapes over his panic and something almost pleased ripples through him when the stinging sensation of flesh being sliced into and ripped off presses back the hint of memory threatening to unveil itself.  
  
“I fucking told you to _stop_ ,” Kyoutani snaps.  
  
Suga’s eyes flick up to Kyoutani with that. The glare set onto Kyoutani’s face almost makes him want to tremble, but there’s wicked petulance that flicks through Suga as well, a self-destructive desire to rebel against the blonde.  
  
Kyoutani narrows his eyes and Suga licks his lips, claws his nails down his arm.  
  
He regrets it the second Kyoutani moves forward, slamming his hands against the walls and framing Suga’s head. Cold terror trickles through Suga’s chest and he only keeps from whimpering by digging his nails deeper into his skin.  
  
“I will break your fucking hands,” Kyoutani threatens, voice deep with a growl. Suga flinches and Kyoutani leans in close, close enough that Suga can smell his cologne and the faint scent of cigarettes clinging to his clothes. He’s too close and the urge to lash out at him is strong, the fear of Kyoutani touching him is too overwhelming. “Stop it.”  
  
Suga’s hand drops from his forearm before he can think to refuse, falling limp against his legs. He hates that, but he hates the small, panicked noise that leaves him even more. He hates how Kyoutani doesn’t pull away but keeps eyeing him, some sort expression on his face Suga can’t quite decipher.  
  
Satisfaction? Curiosity? Annoyance? Some strange mix of all three?  
  
Suga doesn’t know what it is, but it makes him want to squirm away, leaves his fingers twitching against his leg with the desire to claw at himself. A whine almost leaves him, but he swallows it back, face crumpling up as his panic begins to rise again.  
  
“So you can be good sometimes,” Kyoutani mutters, finally leaning back and out of Suga’s personal space. Suga’s heart stutters at the words and he tries to curl up more, increase the space between them.  
  
There’s a moment of quiet and Kyoutani runs his eyes over Suga, glances to the glass of whiskey and then over to Suga once more.  
  
“Drink some more,” Kyoutani orders. “Then we’ll clean you up and join them.”  
  
“Don’t- Don’t tell me what to do,” Suga shoots back, mouth moving automatically. It’s quiet, though, and his voice is small enough to make him grimace. He’s still stuttering out his words and he wants to bash his head against the wall over the whole situation.  
  
Kyoutani huffs and his eyes narrow into golden slits.  
  
Suga loathes that some tiny part of him wants to draw in tarnished golds and smoky black, that he wants to paint in honey and ash.  
  
Stupid fucking puppy. Bastard. Asshole. How dare he make Suga’s fingers twitch, his brain itch.  
  
Suga brings a knuckle up to his lips without thinking and starts biting at it with a distracted, distressed little noise.  
  
Kyoutani’s eyes narrow further and Suga flinches when a tan hand reaches to grab his sleeve, jerks his hand from his mouth and cradles it close to his chest, feels his heart pound too hard. Kyoutani huffs and then his hand drops, his lips press into a firm line.  
  
“You have to stop that,” Kyoutani tells him. “You’re making the other one upset. It’s stressin’ Iwaizumi out.”  
  
A twitch travels through Suga, something with an origin that could range from anxiety to frantic amusement to anger.  
  
Of course Kyoutani only wants him to stop because of Iwaizumi. Of course Iwaizumi is only stressed out over Oikawa. No one cares about him otherwise. Suga doesn’t care, even. His body is already disgusting, revolting- why should he care? Why does it fucking matter? More scars don’t mean shit when he’s already been shred to bits and pieces by wolves and beasts.  
  
A bitter laugh bubbles out of his throat and Suga grinds the heels of the palms into his eyes at how wet it sounds, at the quiet sob that coats its edges.  
  
Fucked, fucked. He’s so _fucked._  
  
Kyoutani stays silent and Suga tries to gather himself, wavering on the edge of free falling into a melt down and getting over himself.  
  
When he moves his hands from his eyes, he sees spots and Kyoutani’s impatient expression. Annoyance whips through Suga and he rubs his nose, hugs his knees and gives Kyoutani a glare.  
  
“Just go away,” Suga tells him, snippy and tired.  
  
Kyoutani huffs and he rocks back on his haunches, fixes his own glare on Suga.  
  
“Can’t. Need to clean you up first,” Kyoutani mutters.  
  
Suga sniffles but this time it’s angry, irritated as he fights his way back to self-control.  
  
“You’re not doing shit,” Suga grumbles, scrubbing at his face. “Just- just move. I want to go to Tooru.”  
  
“Iwaizumi said to clean you up first,” Kyoutani huffs, looking more stubborn.  
  
“God, fuck. Why does it even _matter_?” Suga snaps at him. His forearm is starting to sting, badly, along with his throat. “You don’t care. You don’t want to do this. Just _back off_.”  
  
Kyoutani growls and Suga glares, anger starting to simmer through him.  
  
Good. Good. Anger he can work with. Anger isn’t humiliating.  
  
“No,” Kyoutani snaps back. “Get your ass up so I can fucking bandage you.”  
  
“I will claw your god _damn_ eyes out if you try to touch me,” Suga threatens, nearly hissing it. Kyoutani just glares harder and Suga instinctively curls over himself, muscles tensing in preparation for some fight that probably won’t even occur. “Why the fuck are you so eager to follow orders from him?”  
  
“That’s none of your goddamn business,” Kyoutani growls. His fingers curl into fists and Suga feels his heart start to pound too quick, anger moving from simmering to absolutely _boiling_. His mouth tastes hot, something coppery resting on his tongue. “You gonna sit here all night? Leave them all alone?”  
  
And just like that, paranoia slams into anger. The clash of emotions is overwhelming but the thought of Oikawa being alone with Iwaizumi is louder than how his heart beats too quick, how his body washes over both hot and cold as it struggles to right itself out.  
  
Oikawa can’t be left alone with him. Not Iwaizumi. No. _No_.  
  
Suga shoots up so fast he goes dizzy and he has to lean against the wall to keep from crumpling back to the floor, isn’t quite able to help the gasp that leaves him.  
  
“Watch out,” Kyoutani huffs. Suga blinks his vision back to normal and Kyoutani unfolds himself from his crouch, frowns at Suga. He looks like he’ll say something, but he just jerks his head instead, turns and walks away.  
  
When Suga goes to follow, his legs tremble and he nearly sinks down to his knees when walking turns out to be some sort of newfound difficulty.  
  
He’s so tired. He’s so _tired_.  
  
He forces himself forward and grimaces at how heavy he feels, at how he just wants to lay on the ground until his body begins to wither and rot. It’s so fucking exhausting flipping between wanting to give up and wanting to fight the world and Suga isn’t really sure what he really, truly wants to do outside of _sleep_.  
  
(Sleep. Protect Oikawa. Nothing would hurt Oikawa if he was dead, but that’s so fucked up and he knows it. Oikawa’s better now, too- much better than Suga is at the moment. Suga would cry about it being unfair, but he’s not that selfish. Maybe. He’s fucking bitter. Awful, so disgusting. Things are so mixed up and he’s so hopeless. Why is he still here? He’s so _tired_ of this. So tired. Wants to sleep and run and hide but- but _Oikawa_. He needs to- fuck. God, fuck, it’s all too much.)  
  
Suga gets so absorbed in his thoughts that he almost allows Kyoutani to grab his wrist once he walks into the bathroom.  
  
“ _Don’t_ ,” he snaps out quickly, panicked as he yanks his arm away. “Don’t touch me.”  
  
“I was just gonna push up your sleeve,” Kyoutani huffs, arms crossing over his chest. “I wasn’t goinna _touch_ you.”  
  
“I can do it myself,” Suga grits out, jaw clenching together tight enough that he knows he’ll have a headache later on if his panic attack doesn’t gift him with one. “Just- just get the medicine.”  
  
Another huff leaves Kyoutani, but he moves to start pulling what’s needed out of drawers and cupboards. The squeak of the drawer sliding along its tracks makes Suga grimace, but the glimpse of himself in the mirror makes him wince and squeeze his eyes shut at the pinprick of tears stinging his eyes.  
  
Ugly. Ugly. He’s so ugly now.  
  
Suga takes a deep breath and hates that it shakes, tries to push away the vain upset that’s pulsing through him. It’s his own fault he looks like hell, his own fault that his reflection is one of an exhausted, bloodied wraith with scabbed over lips and bones sticking out like blunt knives being pushed out from under his skin.  
  
He can’t be upset when he’s the one doing this to himself.  
  
A grunt has Suga snapping his eyes open and he flicks his gaze over to Kyoutani, watches him set supplies down on the sink counter.  
  
“Don’t do anything yet,” Kyoutani orders. “I’ll be back.”  
  
A tired scoff leaves Suga, but Kyoutani ignores him and leaves the bathroom without any explanation. It’s tempting to leave the room and head to the roof, but Suga knows it will cause more of a fuss and drama. Some part of him _wants_ a fuss and drama, an excuse to lash out. But he’s so tired too and he just wants to get this over with and join Oikawa, maybe even press up close against him if he can handle it.  
  
He just wants to sleep.  
  
An aching ripple of exhaustion travels over Suga and he sways, eyes closing as he takes a step forward and sits himself on the toilet. He props his elbows onto his knees and then drops his face into his palms, curls his fingers loosely into his hair when the world seems to waver.  
  
He feels sick.  
  
It takes a few moments, but then Kyoutani’s footsteps reach his ears. Suga lifts his head when he hears Kyoutani enter the room and swallows unconsciously at the glass of whiskey in Kyoutani’s hand, a blunt and paper towels held in the other. The phantom memory of being soft and languid flutters through him and Suga hates the way a small, wanting noise bubbles in his throat and almost comes out.  
  
God, why is he so _selfish_?  
  
“You have two choices,” Kyoutani tells him, sitting the paper towels onto the counter. “Whiskey or weed. Pick one.”  
  
Suga blinks and feels his face constrict into confusion and annoyance. Kyoutani doesn’t react outside of a blank look when Suga eyes him in bewilderment, doesn’t do anything but huff when Suga shakes his head.  
  
“What... _what_?” Suga asks, disbelief seeping into his voice. “I’m not- _no_. I’m not having either.”  
  
Kyoutani huffs, again, and Suga can swear that the blonde is close to rolling his eyes.  
  
“You need it,” Kyoutani says, blunt and vaguely irritated. “You’re gonna have a fucking panic attack and hurt someone.” Suga lets out an aborted noise- something half-way between a snort and a scoff- and Kyoutani eyes him a little, licks his lips. “You’ll hurt Oikawa.”  
  
_Fuck._  
  
Mortification and fear has Suga tensing up immediately at the thought and he almost chokes on his spit, curls his nails so tightly into his palms that he ends up bloodying himself even more.  
  
Bastard. _Fucking-_ that’s so low- fucking- how _dare_ he- he wouldn’t- Suga would _never-_  
  
“I would _never_ hurt him,” Suga snaps, almost gasping it out. “I would _never-_ how _dare_ you suggest-”  
  
(breakhisneckslicehisthroatOikawacouldn’tbehurtifhewere ** _dead_** )  
  
Horror at his thoughts has Suga cutting himself off and his eyes widen, his shoulders shake.  
  
No. No. He’s not- he wouldn’t. That’s not _him_. He would never do that. He would never, _ever_ hurt Oikawa.  
  
Kyoutani snorts and Suga tries to muster the energy to glare at him, feels his eye twitch and his lips tremble.  
  
“Yeah? You’re already doin’ that,” Kyoutani tells him, setting down the glass of whiskey. “All your breakdowns. Suddenly not wanting Iwaizumi to take care of him. You’re just bringin’ him down with you.”  
  
Tears prickle up in Suga’s eyes and then drip from the corners, free to trickle down his cheeks with the horror that’s rendering Suga immobile.  
  
Hurting...he’s hurting...he’s...no. _No_.  
  
But- but he _is_. He promised himself he would do whatever it takes to make Oikawa happy, but he’s not- he’s not doing that. Oikawa _hates_ him right now and he’s not taking care of him and he’s such a fucking _mess_ and- and-  
  
Bile shoots up Suga’s throat, watery and sharp with its sting, and Suga gags when it fills up his mouth, tumbles to the floor and throws himself over the edge of the tub just in time to throw up without it splattering all down his front and into his lap. He coughs with it and he cries, not able to help it as his body trembles and acidic, slimy strands drip from his lips and down to his chin. Snot runs down his face with it and he hates it, he hates himself and he hates everything _so fucking much_.  
  
Suga tries to calm himself down enough to move back, but when he tries to straighten up, his whole body shakes and a wave of sick travels through him again. Viscous, watery puke spews from his mouth and Suga almost chokes on it, gasps desperately for air and nearly collapses completely, just barely has the energy to keep his body from tilting forward and his cheek slamming into the disgusting, rotten smelling mess he’s made.  
  
A whimper leaves him and Suga flinches when fingers touch his cheek, jerks back weakly when Kyoutani crouches down beside him. He can’t muster up the fear or rage to glare over at him and Suga finds himself unable to move away when Kyoutani reaches out with damp paper towel, lightly swipes it over his chin. Anxiety crawls over him with the gesture, but it’s muted and Suga is so _exhausted_ and so _upset_ and he can’t draw on the energy to fuss and fight, can only squeeze his eyes shut in the pathetic attempt to stop crying.  
  
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Kyoutani tells him, voice quiet. It’s not soft, but it’s not rough either and it’s probably the nicest tone the man has ever taken with Suga. That’s not a comfort, though, and Suga whimpers when the wet, rough cloth of the paper towel brushes over his face once more. “You’re okay.”  
  
The last sentence is said a touch awkwardly, like Kyoutani isn’t used to saying it. Something about that sparks faded amusement in Suga, but he can’t concentrate it or take pleasure in it. He’s too exhausted now, his emotional drive overloaded with everything that’s rammed through him in this last little space of time. He’s quiet and upset and he want to sleep, wants to curl up in bed and not have to think or feel anything anymore. He’s already puked and he’s already cried and if this is going to get him closer to Oikawa and bed, then so fucking be it.  
  
What’s the _point_ anymore?  
  
Suga slumps in defeat against the toilet and opens his eyes tiredly, feeling dull and hollowed out. Kyoutani’s standing now and Suga’s mouth tastes like death, all his scratches sting like bad memories. Suga thinks he wants to die and he thinks he wants the blunt _and_ the whiskey and fuck- _fuck-_ he’s supposed to be in his dorm worrying about exams and essays instead of here half-living and being taken care of by someone that gets paid for murder.  
  
A weak laugh croaks from him and Suga feels more tears slip down his cheeks, stinging in the cuts his nails have wrought on him.  
  
“You’re breaking apart,” Kyoutani tells him, sitting down in front of him. Suga sniffles and nods with a tiny bob of his head, because, _fuck_ , it’s true. “You need to get yourself together for him.”  
  
For _him_. For _Oikawa_. He needs to get himself together for Oikawa and that’s true. He’s been useless since the doctor’s and he hasn’t been doing anything he’s promised him and, _god_ , how has he sunk so _low_?  
  
Kyoutani places the first aid kit in his lap and stretches out his hands to Suga, silently asking if he wants the whiskey in his left hand or the blunt in his right. And it’s selfish and it’s terrible and Suga _knows_ he needs to deny it, but he reaches for the blunt and takes the lighter from Kyoutani with it. Their fingers brush together and tired discomfort ripples through him, but Suga concentrates on his shaky hands, tries to remember all the times he’s seen others light up.  
  
It’s different than he expects. Not bad, but different. He’s used to cigarettes and this is similar but not quite the same and Suga closes his eyes as he inhales, holds that silky smoke in until he figures it’s time to breathe out. And then he lets it go and creaks his tired eyes open, finds Kyoutani watching him with something indistinguishable written all over his face. Suga doesn’t have the energy to try to decipher the expression and just ignores it, going for another inhale and the hope that maybe he can stay calm for a few hours, slip into the sleep that he so desperately needs.  
  
It’s quiet in the bathroom, the drama of the night pushed away and melted as easily as it had come. Kyoutani doesn’t do anything but watch Suga for a few moments and then he dips his eyes to his lap, starts messing around with the first aid kit.  
  
“You gonna let me fix you up now?” Kyoutani asks, voice low.  
  
Suga doesn’t want him to and he doesn’t want to be babied and touched, but he’s too tired to do anything himself and he just doesn’t _care_ anymore. So he tilts his head back and blows a stream of smoke toward the ceiling, shuts his eyes and feels the sting of fatigue behind his lids.  
  
“Whatever,” he mumbles. “I don’t care.”  
  
A huff sounds in response and Suga ignores it, flinching in a feeble sort of way when Kyoutani reaches out and pushes his sleeve up his left arm.  
  
Kyoutani’s hands are rough, callused. He’s not exactly rough with his treatment, but he’s not gentle with it either. Suga thinks he’s trying to keep from touching him skin-to-skin as much as he can, but he doesn’t want to dwell on that, the way that he’s just letting Kyoutani clean his scratches and smear ointment on him, bandage him up. It’s too uncomfortable, being touched and taken care of, and Suga almost jerks away and curls up, tries to concentrate on smoking instead so he can just get this fucking over with. The dripping of the sink faucet and the smell of the puke is enough to get his panic pooling in his belly again and Suga swallows hard when Kyoutani’s fingers skim over his wrist, pull gauze firmly over his self-inflicted wounds.  
  
It’s too quiet and suddenly everything is becoming too much again.  
  
“When I was seventeen, my family was murdered.”  
  
Suga’s eyes snap open at the low voice, the unexpected words and he blinks a few times, tilts his head back to its normal place so he can look at Kyoutani in surprise. The blonde’s own head is bowed, expression hidden, and Suga can just catch him taking a slightly deeper breath than necessary, the rise and fall of his shoulders.  
  
“My dad was a good guy, but he gambled a lot. Owed too much money to too many people. One of them decided to collect and, when my dad couldn’t pay up, they shot him down and then my mom right after. My sister and I were made to watch and I couldn’t stop them when they grabbed her and threw her to the floor.”  
  
Kyoutani pauses and Suga’s breath catches uncomfortably, flashes of sick grins and greedy hands filling his mind in a rush that makes him nauseous. He’s only jerked from the pull of living nightmares when Kyoutani rolls his sleeve down and Suga quickly pulls his arm back, switches the blunt to his left hand and extends his right arm almost without thinking.  
  
“They fucked her up,” Kyoutani grinds out. His voice is almost emotionless, but there’s a jagged edge that betrays him. His hands are rough with how they push up Suga’s sleeve, but Suga can’t care- entranced with this sudden insight into Kyoutani’s life.  
  
“I couldn’t do shit,” Kyoutani continues. He’s still not looking at Suga and Suga’s not sure he can breathe with the admission. “Thought I was hot shit back then, but I couldn’t do a fuckin’ thing when it came down to it.” His left hand circles too tightly around Suga’s forearm and Suga lets out a soft gasp, hurriedly sticks the blunt between his lips when he remembers it. “Someone called the cops, but not before they killed her. Bastards ran like hell and I did too.”  
  
Why, Suga wants to ask. Why would you run?  
  
He’s too wrapped up in this, too interested to hear about how someone else’s life was destroyed. It’s sick how he wants to hear about someone else’s pain to hide his own.  
  
“Fuckers dislocated my shoulder. Broke a few ribs too,” Kyoutani mutters, smearing antiseptic ointment down Suga’s forearm. His skin looks so dark against Suga’s and Suga can’t stop staring at it, wants to ask Kyoutani if he cried. “Ended up in alleyway and hid next to a dumpster. Can’t really remember much after that until Iwaizumi found me. He was coming off a job and still had blood all over his hands.”  
  
The last sentence is said almost _fondly_ and Suga feels decidedly surreal, mesmerized and caught in this space of time that _must_ be a hallucination.  
  
“Idiot took me home even after I bit him,” Kyoutani huffs out. He pauses then and there’s a few bare moments of silence before he raises his head. Suga watches him wet his lips with his tongue and stares without blinking, ashes falling from the blunt onto the bathroom floor. “I hated him at first. Thought he was gonna kill me or do something else.” A wince travels across Suga’s face before he can help it- he knows all too well what _something else_ means. “I might have been worse than you. He didn’t mind, though. Hit me over the head when I got too bad. But he took care of me. Was the only person that cared about me outside of my family.”  
  
Kyoutani wets his lips again and then bows his head once more, winding gauze around Suga’s wrist slowly.  
  
“I think he was lonely,” Kyoutani mumbles, tossing it out offhandedly. Suga blinks at that and feels his head tilt, something odd rippling through him. “Took forever for him to get me to trust him.”  
  
But how? What did he do?  
  
The questions are on the tip of Suga’s tongue, but he stifles them with a draw from the blunt, keeps silent as Kyoutani breathes in deep.  
  
“He got me drunk one night,” Kyoutani tells Suga, voice getting quieter. Suga thinks he might not be used to talking so much, but it could be that he just doesn’t want to talk about it. “Finally told him what happened. He found out who killed my family. He helped me kill them, get revenge.”  
  
_Oh._  
  
Suga blinks and opens his mouth, closes it because he can’t quite form any of the surprised thoughts buzzing around his head. He doesn’t notice when Kyoutani rolls his sleeve down and only lets out a soft, surprised noise when Kyoutani leans forward to move to his neck, tilts his head back and offers his throat up without a fight.  
  
“That’s why I follow him,” Kyoutani tells Suga. “That’s why I’d do anything for him.”  
  
The confession is enough to send Suga’s heart fluttering in a strange sort of beat, has another soft noise slipping from him as Kyoutani cleans the scratches gouged down his neck. He doesn’t know why Kyoutani has told him this and it’s making him feel off balance, has his mind thrumming in a strange way that’s leaving him all sorts of confused. He wants to ask questions, but he doesn’t want to show he cares and Suga feels overwhelmed in an underwhelmed sort of way- like a rug has been pulled out from under his feet, but he’s landed on something soft to lessen the blow.  
  
It’s quiet between them and he doesn’t know if Kyoutani wants him to say anything, can only swallow and breathe out a shaky breath as rough fingers move over his throat. Suga doesn’t like feeling so disjointed and he breathes in deep, opens his mouth to try to mumble something and gain some ground again.  
  
Kyoutani, though, beats him to it.  
  
“You’d do anything for Oikawa, right?” Kyoutani asks. It’s hardly a question, though, and comes out almost like a fact, like he’s stating something he read in a text book once.  
  
“Yeah,” Suga manages to breathe out, staring up at a ceiling that needs the cobwebs swept off. “Yeah...I- yeah. I’d- I’d do anything for him.”  
  
“Why?” Kyoutani asks. He moves away to grab the gauze and Suga stays perfectly still, a shudder running through him at the question.  
  
“It was my fault,” Suga mumbles, words tumbling out before he can stop them. Kyoutani moves close again and it gets hard to breathe, concentrate when the gauze gets wound around his neck. “Made him go to the bar. His parents wouldn’t have found out if I wasn’t selfish and demanded it.”  
  
“That’s fucking stupid.”  
  
Suga blinks and he opens his mouth, already moving to reiterate that it _was_ his fault, that all of this is _his_ fault.  
  
He should know. They said it, Oikawa said it. It’s his fault. All his fault.  
  
“It’s not like you were the one to trade him off to those bastards,” Kyoutani rumbles out before Suga can say anything. “If you’re gonna blame anyone, blame his parents. You just wanted to go on a fucking date.”  
  
But, no...that’s- _no_. It’s _his-_ they always said- _always-_  
  
Confusion tangles up Suga’s thoughts and he lets out a strangled little noise, his mind replaying again and again all the words that had been hissed in his ear and how many times he watched Oikawa get shoved to the floor as someone whispered that it was all _his_ doing.  
  
Oikawa was engaged before he got with Suga. (And engaged still during it. God, Suga is such a piece of _shit_.) He was with someone that _fit_ him- a _girl_ , someone his parents liked, someone that was small and sweet and suited for his life. It was- It was _Suga_ that fucked it up. If he hadn’t- he was the one- he-  
  
A whimper crawls out his throat and from his lips right as Kyoutani smooths his fingers over the gauze. Suga flinches and Kyoutani backs away, lets Suga tilt his head back down to stare at him in bewilderment. Kyoutani blinks at him and takes a silent, deep breath, licks his lips.  
  
“It’s not your fault,” Kyoutani repeats, sure and without passion or comfort. It’s another statement, another fact picked up from an imaginary textbook.  
  
“But,” Suga whispers, “it…”  
  
The words die and Kyoutani huffs, looking down and starting to pack the first aid kit back up. His patience is apparently worn out and Suga doesn’t know what to do, is fluttering in an odd space that he can’t make out. The blunt has burnt out between his fingers and there are ashes on the floor, vomit still in the bathtub. Suga thinks he needs to do something, but he can’t do anything but stare at the opposite wall, dazed as Kyoutani gathers everything up and stands.  
  
There’s movement and sound, the squeak of the drawer on its tracks and a too loud, uncouth gulp of whiskey. Kyoutani walks back into Suga’s line of sight to turn the shower on and wash the puke down the drain and Suga remembers his filthy mouth, the taste of rot on his tongue. He wants to stand and wash it out, but he’s not sure if he can and everything just feels so out of touch, so _surreal_.  
  
“Wash your mouth out,” Kyoutani tells him after a moment or two, tossing out the order as he shuts off the shower. “Then we’ll go to them.”  
  
And Suga obeys, his ability to put up a front or a fight stripped from him. He stands and he brushes his teeth with the toothbrush Iwaizumi bought him, spits out the paste and rinses his mouth with the whiskey because _fuck it_. When he’s done, he stares into the mirror and he doesn’t recognize himself, is unable to stop his hands from rising and his fingers touching at white cloth covering his scratches.  
  
“No more scratching,” Kyoutani grumbles to Suga, brushing past him and out of the room. “It’s not helping anything.”  
  
Suga just blinks and follows him, mind blank and too dazed to snap something out.  
  
It’s not helping anything and Kyoutani said it wasn’t his fault, but everyone has told Suga that it was and he doesn’t know what to think and he’s so _sleepy_ now, aching exhaustion traded for a more syrupy, honeyed sort of drowsy fatigue. He doesn’t know what to think and he wants to be with Oikawa and how is it not his fault? Of course it’s his fault. It’s his fault and it’s always been his fault and he should have known better and-  
  
“Put this on.”  
  
Suga startles, jerking when a jacket is shoved into his line of vision. It’s green and grey and Suga thinks he’s seen Kyoutani wear it before, ends up scrunching his brow and looking up at the man in silent questioning. He only gets a huff and Kyoutani shoving it toward him again, more impatiently and firmly.  
  
“It’s fucking cold out,” Kyoutani tells him. “Just put it on.”  
  
And, like in the bathroom, Suga obeys. He puts the jacket on and tells himself in some tired, stubborn thought that he just doesn’t want to get sick and risk going to the hospital. Kyoutani pulls on another jacket while Suga slides on his and then they’re walking the last few steps to the front door, walking into the silent hallway. It’s bright and Suga’s heart is beating quick but tired, muted anxiety crawling over his tongue and nesting in his stomach.  
  
They don’t go to the elevator. They go to a door that Suga hadn’t noticed before and climb a set of steps, push open another door that Kyoutani has to enter a code to unlock. It only registers in Suga’s mind that he could make a break for it once he steps outside, but that gets pushed far away when a whip of wind blasts fresh air into his face, when he gets a glimpse of neon lights and the tiny pinpricks of stars, Oikawa’s face turning to him and lighting up.  
  
“Kou-chan,” Oikawa calls out, waving a hand. “Come here, you can see lupus.”  
  
Lupus, the wolf. One time Oikawa connected the freckles on Suga’s back into the constellation. It had tickled and they had both ended up laughing, Suga rolling over until he could kiss Oikawa breathless and watch the way his eyes crinkled up in their corners when he smiled.  
  
That was so long ago.  
  
Suga’s lips tremble and he swallows hard, tears gathering in his eyes and threatening to spill down his cheeks. He’s cried so much and he’s so tired of it, just wants to let it all go.  
  
Suga takes a shaky breath and walks over to Oikawa, doesn’t meet Iwaizumi’s eyes as he sinks down next to Oikawa. The roof floor is cold, but it’s manageable and there’s something tingling and fluttering underneath Suga’s skin to keep him warm. He watches Kyoutani sit down next to Iwaizumi and he watches the way Kyoutani leans into his side, how his eyes close and something tired makes its way onto his face. The way Iwaizumi raises a hand to pet over his hair is fond, gentle and Suga has to look away from them because it makes his heart ache in ways he doesn’t want it to.  
  
“Where’s lupus?” Suga asks quietly instead, voice croaky as he looks to Oikawa, takes in his smile and the way his face is filling out again, how he’s looking almost like he had before all of this bullshit happened to them.  
  
“Up there,” Oikawa informs him, pointing to the sky and tilting his head to look. “See? It’s by centaurus.”  
  
Suga can’t remember what that one looks like. He hesitates and then he shuffles closer to Oikawa, lightly curls into his side and rests his head on his shoulder, looks up at the night sky. He can feel Oikawa stiffen and then relax, hear the sharp inhale that he takes. It’s almost enough to make Suga panic and pull away, but then Oikawa wraps his arm around his shoulders and Suga just _melts_ with it, presses against Oikawa with a sudden need to be close, to feel his warmth.  
  
“Which- which one is centaurus?” Suga asks in a rush, whispering the question because he’s afraid that Oikawa will hear his fear and uncertainty if he speaks in more than hushed words.  
  
“That one,” Oikawa mumbles to him, pointing to another cluster of stars. He sounds a little breathless and Suga feels guilty for denying him contact, that he’s so fucked up he hasn’t been able to handle Oikawa’s touch, give him attention and comfort that he needs. “And see- lupus is right by it.”  
  
Suga nods despite not really being able to make the constellations out from each other and Oikawa lets out a low hum, his hand rubbing over Suga’s shoulder. It’s a little much, but he can handle it, he thinks, and Oikawa is so _warm_ and Suga loves him _so much_ and he _never_ wants to get this bad again.  
  
“What’s the legend?” Suga asks quietly. “Behind lupus?”  
  
Oikawa takes a quiet breath and then he begins to talk softly about the Greeks and a hybrid creature with the body of a lion and a head of human. His voice is gentle but passionate and awed and it takes Suga back to better days, to when he used to coax Oikawa into lecturing for him just so he could watch wonder unfold across his face. It hurts a little, listening, but it feels okay too and Suga closes his eyes, quietly allows his exhaustion to weigh down his bones, pull him slowly to the confines of sleep.  
  
“I love you, Tooru,” he mumbles once there’s a lull in Oikawa’s words, unable to keep it held in. “I love you so much.”  
  
A soft noise leaves Oikawa and then his head turns, then there’s a brush of chapped and scabbed up lips to his forehead.  
  
“I love you too, Koushi,” Oikawa whispers.  
  
He loves him.  
  
Suga shudders and Oikawa rubs his shoulder again, begins talking quietly about the other stars watching them from above.  
  
Oikawa loves him, Suga repeats to himself in a wonky, drowsy loop. He loves him. He loves him.  
  
Oikawa loves him and maybe they’ll be okay again one day. Maybe Suga won’t have to exhaust himself emotionally so he can be held and maybe Oikawa won’t get frustrated because he can’t remember the things he loves and maybe, maybe they can get past everything.  
  
Maybe.  
  
With a sigh and a yawn, Suga curls up more against and Oikawa and lets himself go, drifts off to dreams of a better future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahahahaha. it's been a while, yeah? this chapter just didn't want to work with me and, honestly, it's still not working with me. but. it's here.
> 
> Come say hi and hello on [my tumblr](https://moramew.tumblr.com/)~


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa pulls his knees tighter against his chest and stares down at the city below, all the neon lights and the smudges of people wandering around, making their ways to bars and arcades and strip clubs and maybe even home to lovers’ arms. He hates those smudges, just a bit- hates that they’re moving around and free from fear, that they’ve never been scared of leaving home without a rough hand wrapped around their wrist and the grim promise of being kept safe by someone who knows murder like the back of their hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's pretend it's still before midnight and Oikawa's birthday
> 
> Chapter warnings:  
> -abuse mentions  
> -lots of mood swings  
> -vague dubcon  
> -biting as a form of self-harm  
> -intrusive thoughts  
> -morally grey behavior  
> -mood swings because, god, does Oikawa have them

It’s quiet in the penthouse.  
  
It’s lonely.  
  
Oikawa pulls his knees tighter against his chest and stares down at the city below, all the neon lights and the smudges of people wandering around, making their ways to bars and arcades and strip clubs and maybe even home to lovers’ arms. He hates those smudges, just a bit- hates that they’re moving around and free from fear, that they’ve never been scared of leaving home without a rough hand wrapped around their wrist and the grim promise of being kept safe by someone who knows murder like the back of their hand.  
  
Home. Is this home now?  
  
Oikawa rests his forehead against the glass and lets out a quiet breath, watches as it fogs up the nightscape and blurs the lights and life that makes Oikawa want to scream.  
  
Home used to be his dorm room and Suga’s arms, warm laughter and worn blankets, the freedom of imperfection and the soft haze of youth. Home was smaller and only tinted with quiet tension back then instead of the fear he knows now. Home was late nights with friends and studying for tests in a too small bed with Suga curled up by his side, cheap take-out over cheesy scifi flicks and too sweet wine that his mother would have balked over and claimed as swill.  
  
Home was fun and laughter and hope. Home was so _good_  before- before-  
  
Oikawa shakes his head furiously and squeezes his eyes shut, pushes away the memories before they can form. He’s remembering now and he wishes that he wouldn’t, wishes that he would stay in his pathetic haze so he wouldn’t have to recall knives at his throat and cigarettes grinding into his skin, the sour taste of unwashed bodies and the stench of cigars and piss and shit.  
  
It’s weak, that. It’s weak wanting to stay small and pathetic, something that other people have to take care of. He was already so tired of being in control and standing on his own before he was snatched away from home, though, and that weariness has increased by tens, hundreds, thousands.  
  
He wants to be taken care of. Iwaizumi promised to do that, put his rough hand to Oikawa’s cheek and rumbled out in his gravely voice that he would take care of him, watch over him and protect him.  
  
And, _god_ , does Oikawa want to believe that.  
  
He thinks it’s probably true that Iwaizumi wants to take care of him. He’s heard Suga hiss that Iwaizumi can’t be trusted, that it’s a ruse and that Iwaizumi wants to use him, groom him into something for his pleasure. The pu- _Kyoutani_ \- has fought with Suga over it, Oikawa knows. Has told Suga to just let it happen, that it doesn’t matter. Has told Suga that being a pretty little pet for a murderer for hire isn’t the worst thing that could happen to him.  
  
And would it really be _that_ bad? Iwaizumi’s hands are rough, but his actions are gentle and Oikawa feels _safe_ when Iwaizumi is beside him. Oikawa’s present enough now to know that Iwaizumi _likes_  taking care of him, that Iwaizumi probably _does_  get off, just a little bit, on making sure he’s safe and soothed over. It makes Iwaizumi happy and a happy Iwaizumi means safety for Oikawa, for Suga. It means protection from someone who gets _paid_  to kill and it means food, a warm bed, sanctuary from his parents and Kuma and the terrors of the world. He can play the pretty little pet and let himself fall into captivity if it keeps them safe. He can be soft and needy and broken if it keeps them from being tossed back to the wolves.  
  
It’s so easy to do that, anyway. So easy to let his fractured mind push him into anxiety that Iwaizumi will want to soothe over, upset that will have Suga rushing to smooth out his jagged edges. It’s harder to fight against it and what’s the _point_  when it helps them, when it keeps their place secure.  
  
What’s the point when he likes the way Iwaizumi looks at him in concern? What’s the point when he likes that it makes Suga _pay attention_  to him, snap out of the panic that ensnares him? What’s the point when his life is so shattered anyways? It’s not like he has a reason to posture and cling to pride anymore, right? There’s no point in it.  
  
There’s no point in anything anymore.  
  
Oikawa curls up a little bit more into himself and rests his chin on his knees, watches an advertisement flick across an electronic billboard.  
  
He’s so tired.  
  
Oikawa sits quietly and watches the world pass by below. It feels so close and so far away all at once and he wonders if someone else was snatched up to take his place, if there’s someone scared right now being pushed to the floor and ripped open.  
  
Probably.  
  
(He should feel guilty or bad about it, maybe, but all he feels is numb and exhausted, bitter with each beat of his heart.)  
  
Oikawa sits and watches the city thrum below in its vibrant capacity, traces his fingertips over the shapes of buildings and the neon lights proclaiming corporations that don’t care about missing boys or shattered dreams. The world keeps moving on even when his eyes grow wet, even when his fingers drag along the glass and curl into his palms so nails can bite into soft skin.  
  
They’re getting longer now. He needs to cut them again. He doesn’t want to become like Suga and scratch his throat to a bloody mess. He doesn’t want to make himself even uglier than he is now.  
  
_"All he has is a pretty face and a silver tongue. There’s no point in either if we don’t put them to good use."_  
  
Oikawa shakes his mother’s voice out of his mind, head aching lightly when he moves his head side to side. His hair brushes close to his jawline with the movement and he hates that, hates the way it tickles him. He needs a hair cut and he needs to trim his nails, needs so many things.  
  
What he wouldn’t do for his contacts and his old bounty of hair supplies.  
  
Oikawa touches at his cheek, fingertips skirting the bag under his left eye, and then flicks his gaze over when he hears the lock turn in the front door, when it opens near silently. His heart beats faster in his chest at the quiet footsteps and he has to tell himself that it’s just Iwaizumi, that it’s no one else, that no one is coming to get him, get Suga. _It’s just Iwaizumi._ _  
_  
Oikawa takes a deep, shaky breath and then rises slowly from the floor, takes a few cautious steps away from the windowed wall and the uncaring city. Iwaizumi walks into his sight after a few moments and relief flutters through Oikawa, has him taking a quiet breath as anxiety bleeds out. Iwaizumi doesn’t notice him at first, preoccupied with pulling off his driving gloves, and that digs at Oikawa a little, has him biting his lip to keep some small pout from forming.  
  
"Iwa-chan," Oikawa calls out softly.  
  
Iwaizumi’s head shoots up, brow furrowed and frown in place. He relaxes, though, when he sees Oikawa and his expression schools into a neutral exhaustion, the soft light of the lamps lighting the room throwing shadows on his face and making him look that much more weary.  
  
"Oikawa," Iwaizumi rumbles out, a sigh chasing after it. “What are you doing up?"  
  
"I couldn’t sleep," Oikawa tells him, drifting closer and looking Iwaizumi over. There’s a shallow cut on his cheek and stubble along his jawline, a smear of scarlet on his shirt when he unzips his jacket. “You got hurt?"  
  
A huff leaves Iwaizumi and he shrugs his jacket off, fishes his cigarettes out of the pocket before tossing it toward the laundry basket.  
  
"Not that bad," Iwaizumi grumbles. With his jacket off, Oikawa can see bandages wrapped around his left bicep, a bright blue band-aid on his forearm. He wonders if the curly haired doctor gave Iwaizumi that, if Iwaizumi has clothes in that color- it looks good on him. “Where’s Suga and Kyou?"  
  
"Asleep," Oikawa huffs, looking away. His lips twitch with the urge to pout his envy, but he keeps it under wraps, licks his lips instead and catches the way green eyes follow the movement. “They went to bed a while ago."  
  
"Why couldn’t you sleep?" Iwaizumi asks, scarred fingers moving to open up his pack. Oikawa shrugs and watches as Iwaizumi light up, watches him take a draw and turn his head to blow out a plume of smoke. “You okay?"  
  
It takes more effort than Oikawa wants to keep from biting into his bottom lip. He nods and offers a smile to Iwaizumi, hopes it’s effective but knows it’s not near as charming and soothing as his smiles had been before he came to this place, before he was snatched away.  
  
He hates that more than anything, he thinks. He used to hold his mask so well- it’s painful that he can’t slip it back in place with past ease.  
  
"I’m okay," Oikawa murmurs, looking down when Iwaizumi raises a thick brow. His heart gives an off kilter beat before he cautiously reaches out and touches at the red on Iwaizumi’s shirt, flicks his gaze back up. (He’s so pathetically proud when his fingers don’t shake.) “But Iwa-chan isn’t."  
  
"I told you I’m fine," Iwaizumi grumbles. He doesn’t pull out of reach, though, and sighs instead, runs a hand through roughed up hair. “Don’t worry about it."  
  
"I wouldn’t have to worry if Iwa-chan was better at his job and didn’t get hurt," Oikawa huffs, words flying out before he can stop them. He almost flinches- he still doesn’t know how well Iwaizumi takes teasing and concern hidden under bratty quips. Iwaizumi scowls, but it doesn’t look truly angry, Oikawa thinks.  
  
(Hopes. Prays. He doesn’t want to see Iwaizumi angry, see those deadly hands at work up close and personal.)  
  
"I’m good at my job, thank you very much," Iwaizumi snaps, grumpy but not heated. Oikawa’s nerves still flutter, though, and he tries to ignore them the best he can. “Shit just happens."  
  
"It happens a lot," Oikawa presses, nervous but managing to hide it behind (only slightly hollowed) practiced breeziness. “Is this why Iwa-chan wears such terrible clothes? Because you know you’ll ruin them?"  
  
Iwaizumi scowls deeper, eyes narrowing, and Oikawa curls his fingers into his palms, blinks at Iwaizumi as innocently as he can despite how his insides quiver.  
  
Iwaizumi likes this, he tells himself. A bit of bratty, a little spoiled and teasing. Oikawa’s known enough men like him- at least their core desires- and he _thinks_ this is what Iwaizumi likes, despite the furrow in his brow. He’s always been good at reading people and Iwaizumi is so predictable, so easy to see through.  
  
(Oikawa hopes. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t _know_. He’s gambling on old abilities and desperately pretending that he’s better than he really is, desperately pretending that his heart isn’t sick with panic. He has to be as good as he once was or he’ll break down and he can’t- he can’t do that. Can’t be like Suga. He _needs_  to be in control again, needs to take hold of the situation. He needs-)  
  
"What else do you expect me to wear?" Iwaizumi huffs out, taking another drag but not snapping or lashing out in return. It calms Oikawa just a little and he chances eyeing Iwaizumi’s outfit, the simple jeans and scarlet smeared t-shirt. “I like my clothes anyway."  
  
(Oikawa likes them too, wavers between hesitantly admiring the display of biceps and being terrified because he knows what men with strength can do.)  
  
"They’re so plain, though," Oikawa tells him, fingers smoothing over the worn material of his borrowed, too short sweatpants. He’s much too aware of how the hems skirt above his ankles, hates so very much that they do. “Iwa-chan makes so much money, but dresses so poor. It’s a tragedy. What’s the point of having it all if you look like you just rolled out of garage sale?"  
  
Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and takes a draw again, blows the smoke out before crossing his bandaged arm over his chest.  
  
"I _like_ my clothes, Shittykawa," Iwaizumi grumbles, maybe just a bit annoyed now.  
  
Oikawa should back off, but his mouth is starting to ache to run, growing a bit more fearless and bit manic to find his limits. He needs to know how far he can go before Iwaizumi raises a hand, needs to find what’s going to land him in trouble and what will push Iwaizumi’s patience to its end.  
  
He needs to know how much he can get away with, how much freedom he has to tease and poke and let his mouth fly, how spoiled Iwaizumi is really going to let him become.  
  
"Then you should take care of them better," Oikawa tells him, reaching out a hand and poking at the red on Iwaizumi’s shirt again. Iwaizumi frowns, cigarette dipping along with his lips, and Oikawa squashes the urge to swallow, shrink back and curl into himself.  
  
He can’t do that anymore. He __can’t__. He has to do this. He has to be better. He __has__ to. If he doesn’t- if he doesn’t-  
  
Iwaizumi’s sigh cuts through his rising panic and Oikawa startles a tiny bit, raises his eyes to meet Iwaizumi’s. They’re tired and so worn and it makes Oikawa want to squirm with the way they look him over.  
  
"Maybe," Iwaizumi says after a pause that’s maybe a half-beat too long. His eyes run over Oikawa again and Oikawa fights back the urge to lower his gaze. “You should go lay down."  
  
"But I’m not sleepy," Oikawa protests, lips forming into a pout before he can help it.  
  
Iwaizumi scowls a little and steps away from Oikawa, puts a few steps between them and jerks his head toward the kitchen.  
  
"You want some tea then?" Iwaizumi asks.  
  
Tea?  
  
Oikawa blinks and nearly laughs his surprise. Tea sounds so ridiculous right now. Tea sounds like the exact opposite of what someone that just got home from murdering someone would have. Tea doesn’t sound like anything that would fit Iwaizumi and his leather jacket, the rust colored smears ruining his shirt and the cuts on his arm.  
  
Tea sounds wonderful.  
  
"Will Iwa-chan make it for me?" Oikawa asks, tilting his head and looking over at the waiting man through his lashes. He’s careful to make his voice soft and a little needy, but it hardly takes any effort- he’s still feeling a bit vulnerable from earlier.  
  
(He’s still feeling weak.)  
  
Iwaizumi huffs at the nickname, but then he nods, turns away and heads off. Oikawa follows after him and scrunches his nose at the way some of the smoke from Iwaizumi’s cigarette drifts into his face. It’s a nasty habit, that, and one that gets his heart beating too fast with unpleasant memories. Maybe he can try to get Iwaizumi to stop smoking, if he endears himself enough to him.  
  
He can do that, right? He can have Iwaizumi wanting to dote on him and bend to his desires, can’t he? It was never a problem for Oikawa before to get someone wrapped around his little finger. And he can do it, he thinks. Maybe- no, no, he can. He _can_.  
  
He _will._  
  
"Oikawa?"  
  
Oikawa jumps, startled by the sudden call of his name, and looks over at Iwaizumi with too wide eyes. Embarrassment rankles at him over his jumpiness and he swallows back the urge to flush, digs his nails into his palms to keep from frowning.  
  
"You okay?" Iwaizumi asks, one brow raised. He stubs his cigarette out on an ash tray left on the counter while he asks, not even looking if it’s placed there. “You looked…distracted."  
  
"I’m fine, Iwa-chan," Oikawa tells him, forcing himself to smile and not blurt the words out quickly or mumble them like he wants. “Thirsty, though."  
  
Iwaizumi huffs and pushes himself from the counter, turns to open up one of the cabinets. An electric kettle is brought out, something sleek and colored a dull blue, and Oikawa watches as Iwaizumi moves to the sink, begins to fill it up.  
  
"We don’t have a lot of different kinds," Iwaizumi informs Oikawa, shutting off the water after a few moments. “Jasmine, green, and I think some kind of raspberry bullshit?"  
  
Oikawa wrinkles his nose, but pads over to the island to sit down and props his chin up on his hand as he considers the options. He prefers mint over all of those flavors and rarely likes any of them, but it’ll have to do for now.  
  
He’ll just have to whine about wanting mint soon.  
  
"Jasmine," Oikawa finally decides on. “With honey."  
  
Iwaizumi grunts an acknowledgment and Oikawa watches him open more cabinets, pull down two mugs and little bags of tea. It only partly surprises him when Iwaizumi pulls down a bottle of whiskey, too, and Oikawa feels a tiny bit of tired amusement tug at him when Iwaizumi slings back a mouthful of the alcohol.  
  
That’s more of what he had imagined.  
  
"Iwa-chan, I want some," Oikawa whines softly after a moment, a quiet desire rising in him. It’s been so long since he’s had a drink and it could help him sleep, could possibly help press back the vague memories creeping to the surface of his mind.  
  
(Hands creeping up thighs and unforgiving mouths, the hisses of monsters against his skin and those horrible growls of “Bitch, slut, whore, _cunt._ ”)  
  
Iwaizumi looks over at him, one brow raised. He eyes him for a few moments and then there’s a shake of his head, a firm denial of Oikawa’s request.  
  
"No," Iwaizumi tells him. Oikawa can feel his face crumple in petulance and Iwaizumi huffs, runs a hand through his hair. “You don’t need it."  
  
"You let Suga-chan drink," Oikawa accuses, frowning more when Iwaizumi scowls. “You let him get _high._ "  
  
And that’s true. That’s nothing that Iwaizumi can deny. The pu- _Kyoutani_ \- has been keeping Suga mellow with weed and drink ever since the night they went out to look at the stars. Suga’s smelled like weed more and more, has become softer and less scared, more liable to lean against Oikawa and call him sweet names and mumble to him about things that aren’t tinted in paranoia and fear.  
  
It’s been nice for Oikawa. He’s finally been getting the attention that he deserves.  
  
Iwaizumi huffs, but Oikawa thinks he might be able to see the lightest flash of guilt before Iwaizumi looks away.  
  
“That’s different," Iwaizumi grumbles. “Sugawa- _Suga_  needs it."  
  
“And I don’t?" Oikawa sniffs, feeling even more petulant.  
  
“You’re not as bad as him," Iwaizumi tells him, glancing back over before flitting his eyes away again. “Not anymore."  
  
“But I want-"  
  
“ _No,_ " Iwaizumi snaps, cutting Oikawa off before he can whine. Oikawa flinches from it and then he feels his face screw up with sudden, terrible anger over being denied what he wants, over _Suga_  being allowed something he’s being told no to.  
  
It’s not _fair.  
  
_ Oikawa pinches his lips together and pushes himself from the bar, frustrated and scared of himself and the fury that’s raking through him. It feels like _so much_  so _suddenly_  and his hands are shaking at his sides and Oikawa wants to _scream_  at Iwaizumi until his throat burns, grab the mugs and smash them on the floor.  
  
Oikawa feels _violent_  and he feels _furious_  and he doesn’t know what to do with it, how to flip the switch back to complacency.  
  
“Oi- where are you going?" Iwaizumi calls out. Oikawa barely just catches the surprise in it, only vaguely latches onto the concern- his heart is pounding too loudly to focus and he’s seeing little bright spots, clenching his teeth so tight he can’t really concentrate. “Oikawa! Come back here!"  
  
__Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.  
  
__ Oikawa wants to bite Iwaizumi’s stupid head off, but he doesn’t think he can even speak without screaming. He stomps away before he can risk anything and tries to swallow his fury down, clenches his hands into tight fists that make his bones ache. Nails bite into his palms and, god, it _hurts_. The pain pisses him off even more and he wants to _claw someone’s fucking eyes out.  
  
_ This fury is tremendous. This fury is terrifying.  
  
He wants to unleash it. He wants to hide it away.  
  
“Oikawa, what the _fuck?_  What the hell is wrong with you?"  
  
Iwaizumi’s voice whipping down the hall has Oikawa’s teeth grinding together and it’s only the tiniest shred of self-control that keeps him from crouching down and biting into his fist to muffle a furious sob.  
  
There’s just always something wrong with him, isn’t there? Fucked up Tooru is never as good as everyone wants him to be. He’s just a _disappointment_.  
  
“You’re really going to get pissy just because I said you couldn’t drink?" Iwaizumi snaps, suddenly too close behind him. His hand lands on Oikawa’s shoulder and Oikawa flinches away, fear cleaving its way through blind anger. “What the hell?"  
  
“ _Don’t touch me_ ," Oikawa hisses to him. “Don’t- don’t touch me."  
  
It’s pathetic how much spiteful pride runs through him when he manages to stop himself from shaking, when he keeps steel in his spine.  
  
Is this how Suga feels?  
  
Iwaizumi’s hand lifts away and Oikawa swallows, takes a breath and walks away.  
  
Iwaizumi lets him. He lets him leave without a word of protest, without any reaction outside of a huff.  
  
Because, of course, who would want to deal with him? Who wants to deal with his _bullshit?  
  
_ Oikawa blinks back stinging tears and he bites into his inner cheek to hide a traitorous sob, keeps a stranglehold on himself so he can keep from stomping, can keep himself from showing any more weakness.  
  
He’s fucked things up again. As good as he once was? He’s _nothing_  now. He’s fucking _nothing_.  
  
A harsh bite of bitter laughter escapes him once he steps into the bedroom and Oikawa swallows hard, again, as he locks the door. Suga is asleep on the bed when he looks and all at once Oikawa hates him. All at once he wants to _destroy_  him.  
  
He’s so ugly. He’s so _disgusting_.  
  
(But he loves him. Oh, god, does he love him.)  
  
Oikawa stalks forward- slow and furious with a violence ebbing through him that feels like poisoned honey. It’s _thick_ , this hatred, and Oikawa feels like he could feed himself with it, scoop it up with his fingers and gorge himself on fury unbound.  
  
He wonders what it would be like to wrap his hands around a scarred throat, squeeze until there’s no more light left in copper eyes.  
  
Suga would let him do it. Suga would let him do anything.  
  
Suga would let him drink.  
  
Oikawa sits himself on the bed and he brings a knuckle to his mouth without thinking, staring at the bed without even seeing as he gnaws at his flesh.  
  
Suga would let him drink. Now, maybe. Not before. But now- now that he’s better. Suga’s not like Iwaizumi. Suga’s full of guilt and shame and terrible love. He’s someone Oikawa can use.  
  
“I hate you," Oikawa whispers, teeth digging into his knuckle and lips pulling back into a sneer. “I hate you so fucking much."  
  
(Love him. Love him. Love him _so much_.)  
  
Suga stirs and Oikawa stares down at him, drunk on a hatred that feels too strong.  
  
He’s so pathetic. So weak and clingy, so disgustingly tragic. He keeps bringing everyone down, keeps ruining the fragile facade and marring the thought that this could be a home.  
  
He’s _ruining_  things.  
  
Another stir and then Suga rolls over, curling up and shivering. A tiny noise leaves him and then another- small and scared and grating against Oikawa’s nerves. He bites harder into his knuckle and, when he blinks, warmth flows down his cheeks, drips from his jawline to stain the bed.  
  
God, _fuck_ , he hates everything.  
  
A sob tears from him and Oikawa shakes, bowing over and rocking, pulling at his hair.  
  
He doesn’t have anything. He doesn’t have anyone. All he has is _Suga_. Poor, fucked up Suga that’s even more screwed up than he is. Poor, fucked up Suga that can barely be touched without wincing and flinching away. Poor, fucked up Suga that’s got all of the attention and worry now.  
  
How did it all flip so suddenly? How did they end up trading places so fast?  
  
It’s just the natural order of things, though, isn’t it? Whenever people meet them, they might be fascinated with Oikawa at first, but they always, _always_  go to Suga once the glamour becomes normal, once pretty and charming isn’t enough. It’s always that way. People want Oikawa and then they want Suga and Oikawa is left with his false smiles and his little flirtations and absolutely no one.  
  
No one…no one but Suga.  
  
Oikawa swallows and he blinks quickly, more tears slipping down his face. Suga mumbles in his sleep and Oikawa bites into his hand to stifle his pathetic tears, sniffling only once he feels snot threatening to drip along with them.  
  
Suga is all he has. He’s all Oikawa will ever have.  
  
“Tooru...?"  
  
Oikawa blinks and swallows before looking over at Suga, looks over an exhausted face and sleep heavy eyes.  
  
“Are you…are you crying?" Suga mumbles, reaching a hand up to touch Oikawa’s cheek. Oikawa pushes into his touch, greedy for the affection, and Suga frowns a little, swipes his thumb across his cheek. “Did something happen?" And then Suga is jerking up from the bed, panicked and too rigid. “ _Did they do something to you?_ "  
  
Oikawa blinks and his tears dry as Suga’s hold on his cheek becomes tighter, as he watches mania flare up in pretty copper eyes.  
  
“They…they didn’t," Oikawa tells him, something tingling down his spine. He licks his lips and his heart pounds quietly, a shaky breath leaves him. “But what- what if they did? What would you do?"  
  
“Kill them," Suga whispers without a second of hesitation. “I won’t- they can’t- _I won’t let them hurt you._ "  
  
Oikawa shudders and he feels heat in his cheeks, a quickening to his hearts beating. It’s heady, this sudden feeling, and he doesn’t know what to do with it anymore than the hatred that had slithered through him before.  
  
He stares down at Suga- _his_ poor, fucked up Suga- and he nods, a hand sliding over the covers before he can even think about it. Suga’s gaze shutters when Oikawa cups his cheek and his hand falls limp, dropping from Oikawa’s own and hitting the covers with a dull _thud_.  
  
And just like that, the mania has bled from Suga and he’s left just blinking up at Oikawa- docile and vaguely panicked but too wrapped up in his guilt drenched love to pull away.  
  
“You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you?" Oikawa murmurs, petting at Suga’s cheek with his thumb. “Right?"  
  
And Suga nods even as his eyes squeeze shut, even as a tremble runs through him. It’s a loathsome sort of pleasure that snakes through Oikawa at that, but it’s something he _revels_  in- something that seeps into his bones.  
  
No one else will ever have Suga like this.  
  
Oikawa blinks and then he leans down, presses his lips against Suga’s. They’re rough and bitten up, coarse against his own. When those ugly lips part with a strangled little noise, Oikawa digs his fingers into Suga’s cheek. Suga still doesn’t pull away even when he shakes. Suga still doesn’t pull away even when he cries.  
  
Suga still stays his.  
  
Oikawa pulls away and runs his eyes over a too pale face, over crystalline tears and a blank expression.  
  
“ _My_  Koushi," Oikawa murmurs, caressing tears with the tips of his fingers before letting them fall away. There’s just a tiny nod and Oikawa feels his shoulders relax, something warm flare in his stomach that makes him want to breathe deep. “You love me?"  
  
Another nod is given, but it’s not enough. _It’s not enough.  
  
_ “Tell me," Oikawa coaxes, whisper soft. “Tell me you love me."  
  
There’s a sniffle and then a nod, Suga’s eyes closing as he takes a shaky breath.  
  
“I love you," Suga mumbles to him. “I love you- I love you _so much_."  
  
That’s right. Suga loves him.  
  
Oikawa smiles and Suga blinks away tears, falling back onto the bed without a fight when Oikawa presses a hand to his chest and slowly begins to push him down.  
  
His. His. Suga is _his_.

* * *

His head hurts.  
  
Oikawa curls up tighter in bed and he stares across the room at an ugly wall, trembles when a random shudder runs through him. He feels heavy and exhausted and vaguely gross, sick in a way that makes him feel sorry for himself.  
  
He needs someone to take care of him, someone to pet over him and play nurse.  
  
Oikawa rolls over and reaches out a hand for Suga, but there’s no one there and all he’s left with is a quick burst of panic and fear.  
  
Where is Suga? Where did he go?  
  
Oikawa lurches out of bed and he has to grab onto the nightstand to steady himself, squeeze his eyes shut at the dizziness that wracks through him. His heart is beating too fast and it’s a little hard to breathe, but that doesn’t matter when he _doesn’t know where Suga is.  
  
_ He can’t bolt from the room like he needs, but Oikawa stumbles out of it as fast as he can, hurries down the hallway even with nausea hurling throughout him.  
  
Where is his Suga? Where is he?  
  
( _Don’t go. Don’t leave. Don’t abandon me._ )  
  
It’s when he blunders into the living room that Oikawa finds him.  
  
He’s curled up in an armchair looking all the world like an overgrown cat. He’s covered in grey and black, his Suga, and there’s no skin in sight except for his face and even _that_  is hidden away in the shadows of his hood.  
  
He’s hiding. His Suga is hiding away again.  
  
A noise leaves Oikawa that he doesn’t even take notice of and he steps forward into the room, toward Suga.  
  
And that’s when he sees the pu- that’s when he sees _Kyoutani_.  
  
And, oh, Oikawa does _not_  like that scowl.  
  
Oikawa blinks and then Kyoutani is pushing himself up off the couch, stalking his way across the room and toward him.  
  
What does _he_  want?  
  
He’s all on display, Kyoutani- his tattoos and his scars and finely honed muscles. There are a few bruises on his neck and a crusted up cut along his collarbone and Oikawa can’t help but shrink back as the space between them closes.  
  
(It’s a sign of just how pathetic he’s become when it’s fear crawling in Oikawa’s stomach and not irritation.)  
  
“Suga," Oikawa mumbles, looking away and curling his fingers into his palms. “I wanted-"  
  
“The _fuck_  did you do to him?" Kyoutani snaps, cutting him off.  
  
What?  
  
Oikawa looks up at him, bewildered beyond belief, and Kyoutani scowls deeper, stepping into his bubble and forcing Oikawa’s back against the wall.  
  
“I didn’t- why would I- I didn’t- I _didn’t_ -"  
  
“Bull _shit_ ," Kyoutani growls. “He fucking came to me and _asked_  for it today. You fucking _did_  something."  
  
“I _didn’t_!" Oikawa protests, snapping back even if it’s tinted in nerves. “I didn’t- I would never-"  
  
“You’re the only fucking thing that keeps him from doing this shit," Kyoutani snarls, pointing an accusing finger toward Suga without even looking. “You hold him together. You don’t get to break him. Not if he doesn’t want it. Not if he doesn’t ask."  
  
He didn’t break- he _didn’t_ \- he- he wouldn’t- what is he-  
  
“He- last night- he _let_  me," Oikawa stammers, terror on his tongue and confusion in his bones. “I didn’t- we didn’t-"  
  
“Let you _what_?" Kyoutani barks. “Let you fucking _what?_ "  
  
A kiss. Just a kiss. A kiss and his hand around Suga’s throat, marks left over too thin shoulders to show that Suga belongs to _him_. And he asked and Suga said it was okay and Oikawa didn’t _break_  him. It was okay. It was okay.  
  
_It was okay._  
  
And he tries to tell Kyoutani, but the words can’t crawl their way out of his throat and all he can do is stutter and shake and try to suck in anxious breaths that can not come.  
  
“Kyou…what are you...?"  
  
Oikawa snaps his head over to the side to find Suga sitting up, the hood falling from his head and a drowsy confusion on his face.  
  
He called the puppy Kyou. He called him _Kyou_.  
  
“Get- get away from him," Suga slurs out, ridiculous with his hair whipped into greasy spikes and his eyes almost too heavy to keep open. “I- _get away!_ "  
  
Kyoutani huffs and his finger jabs harder into Oikawa before he pulls back, eyes narrowed and a fierce scowl on his face when Oikawa looks back at him.  
  
“He better be okay before Iwaizumi comes back," Kyoutani threatens, low and awful.  
  
He pulls away and then he’s gone, stomping off to the bedroom without a look back. The door slams and Oikawa’s knees knock together and then he’s on the floor and he can’t breathe he can’t breathe he can’t _breathe_.  
  
“Too…Tooru…"  
  
A quiet, strangled noise and nothing else but fear and self-hatred and so much panic. He hurt Suga and Suga is the only one that loves him and Oikawa doesn’t deserve him and he didn’t mean to do it and Suga said it was _okay_  and Suga called the puppy _Kyou_  and Suga is _his_. He’s _his_.  
  
Oikawa jerks, a ragged breath tearing from him, and he looks over to Suga- _his_  Suga- and all he can see is confusion and upset and a lost look that has his core shaking.  
  
Oh, he did this to Suga. He did this to the only one that cares about him.  
  
But Suga let him…Suga _let_  him.  
  
Oikawa claws his hand up the wall and forces himself up, shaking but stumbling his way toward Suga.  
  
It was a kiss and his hand around a scarred throat and his teeth in pale flesh and Suga let him because he’s _his_. And he let him and it’s okay and it’s…is it okay?  
  
He doesn’t know what to do when he gets to the cluster of furniture until Suga fumbles out of the armchair and then he’s sitting himself on the couch and Suga is falling down onto it next to him and all Oikawa can do is pull him close, curl his fingers into a baggy hoody and stare at a pale face crumpled with upset.  
  
“You said it was okay," Oikawa mumbles to him, upset and unable to ignore the panic in him. “That I could…you said it was…but now you’re…"  
  
“I’m sorry," Suga whispers, flinching. He smells like weed and whiskey and it’s terrible but it’s Oikawa’s fault and, god, what the hell is _wrong_  with him? “I didn’t- I _tried_ \- I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry-"  
  
“Did you want it?" Oikawa cuts through, voice shaking but fingers digging so, so tight and tense into black fabric. “You said…"  
  
Suga nods and there’s a sniffle Oikawa catches when he does, a ducking of his head that makes his heart stutter and stop.  
  
“You let me…you- I’m sorry. I’m _sorry_. I was so- so upset and you were there and you’re _mine_ ," Oikawa whispers, desperately pulling Suga as close as he can. “You’re mine. You said-"  
  
“Yours," Suga mumbles, the word muffled by the way his face is hidden against Oikawa. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m not- I need to- I’ll be _better_. I didn’t- it was my _skin_. It wasn’t- wasn’t _clean_. Burned. Hurt. I can’t- not allowed to scratch- I needed- _needed_  it."  
  
He didn’t scratch but he got drunk instead and, god, he did it for Oikawa even if he knew that this would happen.  
  
“You’d do anything for me," Oikawa just barely breathes, hand moving until he can tilt Suga’s head up. Suga flinches at the touch, but he lets him do it and there may be wetness in his eyes but there’s love there too and, god, Oikawa is terrible but he could get _drunk_  off that devotion. “I’m…I’m sorry. It was too much."  
  
Suga shakes his head and he blinks up at Oikawa, eyes muddled and wet and so, so gorgeous.  
  
“My fault," Suga mumbles. The alcohol on his breath fans over Oikawa’s face and he scrunches his nose at it before he can help it, makes Suga curl up and duck his head. “I should…I should…be better. Need to. Kyou said…Kyou said…"  
  
_Kyou_. Suga keeps calling him that when it’s all been such vitriol before and Oikawa swallows at it, swallows at the panic that keeps rising and falling in him.  
  
They’ve gotten too close. He’s going to take Suga away from him and then Oikawa will have _nothing_.  
  
“You- you’re nicer to him," Oikawa whispers, so strangled and so, so afraid. “He’s nicer to you…are you- you’re _mine_."  
  
Suga nods and there’s a shaky breath before muddied eyes peek up at him. This time it’s Suga’s fingers curling into fabric and Oikawa shudders at it, the way Suga leans more heavily against him.  
  
“I..I’m yours," Suga mumbles to him, drunk and exhausted in his earnestness. “Not going to leave you, promise. Love you so, so much."  
  
“But you like the puppy now," Oikawa shoots back, sharp in his fear. Accusing, cruel- how can he be anything else when he’s losing him? “Why? Why do you- _he can’t have you_."  
  
Suga blinks up at him and he’s so confused, almost pretty in the way he peers up at Oikawa in his bafflement.  
  
“I- wha?" Suga asks, brows knitting together. He looks almost coherent like this- like he hasn’t washed himself in whiskey and weed because of Oikawa’s sins. “I…I’m not. I’m _yours_. The pup- Kyou he’s…he helps but he’s not- I’m _yours_."  
  
His. _His_.  
  
Oikawa breathes in deep and his fingers dig tighter into Suga’s hoodie before he relaxes, his shoulders slumping with frayed, cautious relief. Suga collapses against him a bit more and Oikawa closes his eyes, runs his hand up until he can card his fingers through silver hair dirtied pewter.  
  
“He helps?" Oikawa asks. He feels dizzy with his eyes closed and he has to open them, stare up at the ceiling. “How?"  
  
Suga sighs when Oikawa’s fingers stroke through his locks and it helps ease the lingering worry, the fear that his love is being stolen from him.  
  
He can’t have that. He needs Suga.  
  
And, he supposes, he needs to care of him so he doesn’t lose him.  
  
He’ll _never_  let his love leave.  
  
Suga sighs again and his eyes are closed when Oikawa glances down, his face pale and oh so tired.  
  
“Weed," Suga mumbles. “Drinks. He…understands. Knows. Doesn’t push. Doesn’t pity."  
  
“..understands?" Oikawa whispers, heart jumping back in his throat and fingers curling into Suga’s hair before he realizes. Suga’s shoulders jump at the almost pull and Oikawa straightens his fingers, quickly smooths his hand over greasy locks. “What does he- what does he understand?"  
  
How _can_  he understand? _He’s_  never been locked up and beaten, shoved to the ground in the middle of a crowd of savages and fucked to the sound of laughter. He’s never been torn apart and destroyed just for entertainment.  
  
How can he understand? How can he _know?  
  
_ Oikawa breathes in too quickly and Suga curls up without notice and there’s a yawn that leaves him, a shiver that runs through a too thin body.  
  
“He’d do anything for Iwaizumi," Suga murmurs, almost too quiet to be heard. “I’d do anything for you. He knows…"  
  
And then Suga is trailing off and there’s a sigh that leaves him, a slumping of his body that Oikawa knows to mean that he’s tripped into sleep.  
  
Kyoutani understands Suga? But…but Oikawa understands too, right? Oikawa understands _more_. Suga doesn’t _need_  Kyoutani. He doesn’t _need_  anyone else. He’s- he’s-  
  
Distress bubbles out of Oikawa in a soft noise and he jerks his hand out of Suga’s hair so he doesn’t pull, brings his hand to his mouth so he can bite at his knuckle and muffle breathing that’s gone too heavy.  
  
Suga is _his_. Suga doesn’t need anyone else.  
  
Suga squirms against him and Oikawa has to bite harder into his flesh to keep from screaming his paranoia or clinging too tight.  
  
The puppy is going to take Suga away and Oikawa can’t- he can’t-  
  
“Oikawa?"  
  
Oikawa jerks and he snaps his head to the side, heart pounding too fast and his eyes opening too wide. Iwaizumi frowns at him from the end of the hallway and Oikawa almost shrinks back when the night before comes shrieking through his head.  
  
God, he’s fucked everything up.  
  
(Just like always.)  
  
“Iwa-chan," Oikawa mumbles, too quiet and meek. If he was better, he could smile and throw on an infuriating, sunshine-y act to piss the man off and have him storm away, gain privacy that way.  
  
But he’s not better. He’s slipped so low, lost it all.  
  
How could he ever think he could do anything?  
  
“You look like shit," Iwaizumi says, stepping forward as he eyes him. There’s not any red on him today or bandages on his arm, but a suit instead- something trim and sleek and surprising. Oikawa doesn’t know how to feel about it, but the concern, at least, has his heart quieting. “You sleep last night?"  
  
Oikawa looks away and a sigh cuts across the living room. When he glances back toward Iwaizumi, there’s something almost like _guilt_  on his face and Oikawa blinks at it, the way Iwaizumi huffs and rubs the back of his neck.  
  
“Come on, I got you something," Iwaizumi grumbles.  
  
He heads to the kitchen, not giving Oikawa the chance to protest or ask anything, and Oikawa scrunches his nose at the order before looking over at Suga. He’s asleep, his Suga, and he’s heavy like dead dreams- he won’t wake up until his body catches up on the rest it needs.  
  
Oikawa is still reluctant, though, as he slips away and he bites his lip as he slinks out of the living room and into the kitchen.  
  
(He needs to be with Suga. What if the puppy comes back? He’s going to take him. He’s going to take him. He’s going to take-)  
  
“What did you get me?" he asks, forcing his head up high even if it feels heavy. He tries to glide across the room as gracefully as he can, sits himself as primly as possible on the stool at the island and tries to pretend pulling off this act isn’t as exhausting as it really is. “Is it a drink?"  
  
Iwaizumi huffs again and Oikawa blinks over at him innocently, watches as his grumpy keeper scowls and reaches his hand into a plastic, white bag.  
  
“Yeah," Iwaizumi tells him. “And something else too."  
  
Oikawa raises his brow and Iwaizumi takes out a highball from the bag, then a packet of milkbread. Before he can help it, Oikawa breathes in deep and gives himself away, has to hurry to look away to hide the sharp sting in his eyes he knows has brought incriminating wetness.  
  
How weak he’s become to get emotional just from that.  
  
“Well, Iwa-chan," he manages after a breath, looking back over and fixing a smile on his face that he knows will get under Iwaizumi’s skin. (Someone else has to be hurting, too) “Is this your way for apologizing?"  
  
Iwaizumi scowls deeper, the edges of his lips digging into Oikawa like blunt knives, and he pushes the treats toward Oikawa with another huff, settles his arms across his chest before taking a deep breath.  
  
“Yes," Iwaizumi tells him, gruff and blunt and grumpy enough to show embarrassment, guilt. It helps Oikawa settle down, that. Guilt is something he can work with.  
  
Guilt is something he can use.  
  
“It was…unfair of me to deny you," Iwaizumi continues on, breathing deep once more. “Especially when you’re doing better."  
  
Oikawa blinks at that and he reaches out, drags the highball to him and pops it open.  
  
“Go on," he says, teetering on the edge of a coo. Iwaizumi narrows his eyes at him and Oikawa smiles, relaxing into a sense of being that almost feels like _normal_.  
  
Almost, almost. He’ll never truly feel like he used to.  
  
(He misses being the king of plastic masks and arrogance)  
  
“There’s nothing else to fucking go on," Iwaizumi snaps at him. He fishes out another highball from the bag and then his cigarettes, scowls when Oikawa looks at him expectantly. “Look, I just didn’t want you to start leaning on that shit. Sugawara’s already starting to use it as a crutch and you- you don’t need that too."  
  
Oikawa stares at him and then he snorts.  
  
He snorts and he laughs and it bubbles out of his throat in a ridiculous, vicious slice of disbelief.  
  
Is he _serious?_  
  
Oikawa laughs and snorts, bubbling hysteria shooting up through him just as quick as all his panic and anger. He shouldn’t laugh at a hitman and his brain screams at him to shut up, but he can’t _stop_. Especially not when baffled rage starts to consume him.  
  
“Why the fuck are you laughing?” Iwaizumi growls out, smacking his hand on the counter. Oikawa would be terrified if he didn’t feel viciously and perfectly out of control, overwhelmed by the sheer absurdity Iwaizumi has presented. “How is that funny?”  
  
“How is it _not_  funny?” Oikawa shoots back, grinning even as his laughter winds down to chuckles. “ _How_? A person who _murders_  people for profit is going to tell me _I_  can’t drink? But you’re going to let the person that stabbed the puppy drink and get high? Not me? Not the one that hasn’t done a _thing_?”  
  
Iwaizumi scowls, dark and frustrated, and Oikawa’s grin turns lazy.  
  
“...Kyoutani is in charge of Sugawara. It- It works for him, okay?” Iwaizumi huffs. “Look, I said I was sorry. You can drink, okay?”  
  
And it’s _ridiculous_  how he’s getting vaguely irritated and flustered. And it’s _amusing_  how he’s such this big, bad _murderer_  but he can’t deal with _this_  without hints of red flushing oh so faintly across tan cheeks.  
  
And it’s so fucking _wrong_  that he thinks anyone else has Suga under their thumb.  
  
“Oh, he’s _in charge_  of Suga-chan is he?” Oikawa purrs, leaning forward and looking up at him through his lashes. “Your puppy is in charge of _my_  Koushi?”  
  
Oikawa laughs and he bares his teeth with it, leaning forward until he could almost bite Iwaizumi’s lip off.  
  
“Koushi is _mine_  and no one is in charge of him but _me_ ,” Oikawa tells him, as soft and slow as a lover’s whisper. He smiles at Iwaizumi and he makes it sweet, tilts his head as he looks up into surprised green eyes. “I’ll allow your puppy to mellow _my_  Koushi, but don’t think for _one second_  that Koushi belongs to anyone but _me_.”  
  
He ends it with a snarl- he can’t possibly help it with his cocktail of fury and amusement- and Iwaizumi jerks, just a little, back from him. He’s wide eyed and stunned as he looks at Oikawa, so very nearly bewildered that it makes Oikawa feel a vicious sort of pleasure.  
  
How _dare_  he presume that Suga belongs to anyone else.  
  
So caught up in his possessive fury, Oikawa forgets his plan to be sweet and submissive and needy and soft. He should be blinking at Iwaizumi with wide eyes and playing the helpless darling, but he can’t possibly do it when his heart is thundering with the two sided coin of fear and anger.  
  
Iwaizumi stares at him, mouth gaping just so, and then he blinks, forehead creasing with whatever emotion is flickering through him.  
  
“What- what the hell, Oikawa?” Iwaizumi asks, low but still quietly baffled. “Why are you…what’s _wrong_  with you?”  
  
Wrong with him? What’s _wrong_  with him?  
  
Oikawa snarls, again, and shredded bit of laughter cut through his clenched teeth. He barks out another round and he grips the counter tight, his anger shooting up so high he almost feels dizzy with it.  
  
“What’s _wrong_  with me?” Oikawa shoots back, furious and in disbelief. His arms shake when his hands can’t and Oikawa pushes himself to standing, backs away from the counter with the overwhelming need to _do_  something. “You’re joking, right? What’s _wrong_  with me, Iwa-chan? You want to know what’s _wrong_  with me?”  
  
He glares and Iwaizumi stares and there’s nothing at all Oikawa can do to stem the upset that’s shaking through him.  
  
“ _Everything_  is wrong with me,” Oikawa grits out, nails biting into his palms. “ _Everything_. Do you- do you have any idea what has happened to me? What my _parents_  did? What my life has been like? I used to _be_  someone. I used to have a home and friends and a life. I had a _plan_. I was in school and studying and then- and then-”  
  
A sob nearly chokes its way out of him and Oikawa shakes furiously, blinks rapidly as his eyes grow wet.  
  
“I had so much and now I have _nothing_ ,” Oikawa hisses out. He can’t even see Iwaizumi with his blurry vision and the spots lighting up in it. And he _hates_  that and he _hates_  how weak he is, but he can’t stop now and, god, everything is so _awful_. “I have been stripped of _everything_. All I have left is Koushi and I barely recognize him. I barely recognize _myself_. I used to be- I used to be-”  
  
He can’t stop the sob this time and Oikawa trembles with it, scrubs at his eyes with his hands and almost claws down his face in his grief.  
  
He used to be someone. He’s nothing now. He’s no one.  
  
And everything is so awful.  
  
“My friends, my family, my future?” Oikawa cries out, tears dripping and words mangled by them. “It’s all gone! I have nothing and no one but someone- someone that I can’t decide whether I love or hate. Suga is all I have and he’s so fucked up and _I'm_ fucked up and I can’t- I can’t-” Another sob and he tugs at his hair furiously, not even able to put words to the grievances that has him so thoroughly broken. “He’s _mine_  and I need- I _need_  him and the puppy can’t have him because there’s _nothing_ to me but- but _Suga_.”  
  
That’s right. That’s right. Suga is all he has and he’s all he’ll ever have.  
  
One more sob and Oikawa sinks to the floor in one of his most pathetic displays- falling to his ass and sprawling his legs out like a child, bawling as everything rips through him and he truly cries since coming to this place.  
  
It’s awful, this, and it’s so embarrassing but all Oikawa can do is sob and shake and try to suck in slivers of breaths. He gets close to hyperventilating and he rubs at his face furiously, trying to keep up with his tears and smearing snot over his face and the shitty sweater that’s too small.  
  
And that’s the injustice that his completely breaking down- this discomfort of clothes that don't fit and comfort he used to take for granted has anger falling away to just the pure, broken distress in him.  
  
“I can’t- I can’t- I _remember_  now,” he whimpers out between the breaths he can’t keep up with. “They made me- they made do so- so much and I- I _don’t_ _want to remember._  I don’t want- I don’t want this. I don’t want to- I don’t want to remember. I want to be _home_. I want my _friends_. I want to go to school and I- I want to go to the museum and I- I want to be with Suga and have him- have him smiling and painting and I- I want my bed. I want _my_  clothes. These don’t fit and I hate- I hate- _I HATE THEM!_ ”  
  
It pours out, loudly and obnoxiously and so like a child, and Oikawa sobs without restraint, freefalls into his bitterness completely.  
  
He doesn’t know how long he cries, but at some point Iwaizumi sits beside him on the floor. Oikawa just barely catches the smell of a cigarette through his snotty nose, but he does feel the arm that wraps around him and he clings to Iwaizumi and his nice suit, smears his grief all over it.  
  
Everything has been so _awful_  and he’s had no handle on things and he _hates_  this. He hates this so much. Why did this happen? Why him?  
  
What did he do to deserve this?  
  
He sobs and cries and he bawls and bawls and bawls. A lifetime passes before Oikawa’s crying starts to taper and he’s left weepy and hollowed out, his eyes burning and his throat dry as the desert.  
  
But it feels better, just a little.  
  
And Iwaizumi didn’t push him away.  
  
Oikawa sniffles and he curls up against Iwaizumi despite the embarrassment trying to poke at him, trembles against a hard body and relaxes when a strong hand so gently squeezes his shoulder.  
  
It takes a minute, but then Iwaizumi breathes deep and his hand smooths down his arm in a show of comfort, a sign that Oikawa hasn’t scared him away.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Iwaizumi says, finally. “For everything you’ve been through.”  
  
It comes out soft, the words, and Oikawa sniffles again, his eyes threatening to grow more wet at the gentleness that makes his heart ache.  
  
“You’ve been through a lot,” Iwaizumi continues, quietly. “And I can’t change the past. But…I want to make it better. I should have checked in on you sooner. I’m…sorry about the clothes. We can…I can take you out shopping. Get you things. Make this more comfortable for you.”  
  
Get him things?  
  
Oikawa sniffles and his tears dry just a bit with the thought of his materialistic side being stroked, at the thought of being cared for and looked after. He desperately wants clothes of his own and Iwaizumi sounds guilty, soft in the way that makes Oikawa curious despite the way his outburst left him emotionally exhausted.  
  
He peeks up at Iwaizumi, still resting against him, and Iwaizumi looks down at him- tired and frowning and, yes, _guilty_.  
  
(Guilt is something he can work with)  
  
“You’ll- you’ll get me things?” Oikawa asks, voice croaking and creaking and pathetic. Iwaizumi nods and Oikawa’s lips wobble into an almost smile before he sniffles again. “Suga- Suga won’t want- he won’t want to leave…”  
  
“I’ll talk to him,” Iwaizumi promises. His voice is low and it’s a comfort, has Oikawa closing his eyes and resting against him. “One of my friends has a shop…he owes me favors and I can get it empty for a day. Kyou can…” Iwaizumi trails off and takes a deep breath, absently stroking Oikawa’s side before continuing. “He can…mellow Suga out. Help him not freak out.”  
  
“What if I want more than clothes?” Oikawa asks, fingers curling against Iwaizumi’s suit. It feels nice to lean against someone so solid, comforting.  
  
“...I’ll figure it out,” Iwaizumi promises. “We’ll…I’ll get you what you want.”  
  
“Vodka,” Oikawa mumbles to him. “And hair gel. And…good shampoo. Ice cream. A blowdryer.”  
  
Iwaizumi huffs and Oikawa barely notices it, is so quickly falling into his exhaustion. He’s like a child all worn out from throwing a tantrum and, god, he feels more at rest than he has in ages.  
  
“I’ll get you that,” Iwaizumi tells him, voice quietly. A pleased noise slips Oikawa before he can help it and Iwaizumi’s grip on him tightens, he pulls him a little closer. “I’ll take care of you.”  
  
He’ll take care of him. That’s all Oikawa wants- to be taken care of.  
  
Oikawa sniffles again with the stray burst of emotion that blasts through him and then he settles down, stubbornly clinging to Iwaizumi and his promises- despite knowing he could be lying, despite knowing that he could hurt him.  
  
If Iwaizumi does hurt him, he’ll have Suga kill him.  
  
Oikawa yawns and a small smile works its way onto his face, his body leans heavier against Iwaizumi.  
  
He has Suga. He has Suga _and_  Iwaizumi.  
  
Iwaizumi flicks his lighter to life and Oikawa sinks into his exhaustion, falls into sleep and fragile hope and the inexplicable relief of crying like a child.  
  
Suga will take care of him. Iwaizumi will take care of him.  
  
They’ll take care of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, you didn't think Oikawa was okay, right?
> 
> I had a hard time with this chapter because a) Oikawa decided to go off script like a Brat and b) it's just been a stressful year, y'all
> 
> I might need to add an extra chapter since this one got away from me, but I'm not sure yet.
> 
> Come say hi and hello on [my tumblr](https://moramew.tumblr.com/)~


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